


The Carter Chronicles: Gorgon's Gaze

by Hazzadez



Series: The Carter Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1990-1991, 1990s, 70's Music, 80's Music, 90's Music, Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Ancient History, Archaeology, British History, Bullying, Canon Compliant, Character(s) of Color, Coming of Age, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professors, Department of Mysteries, Drama, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Foreshadowing, Friendship, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Friendship, Gorgons (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Historical References, History of Magic Class (Harry Potter), Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Hogwarts Inter-House Rivalries, Identity, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Metamorphmagus, Muggle Technology, Music, Mystery, Other, POV Character of Color, Pre-Hogwarts, Protagonist of Color, Purebloods (Harry Potter), Quidditch, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Riddles, Series, Song Lyrics, Sphinxes, Walkman, ancient ruins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 69,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27161771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazzadez/pseuds/Hazzadez
Summary: The life and times of another. Unknown to the Boy-Who-Lived, another group of students dared to plunder the hidden depths of magic and history forgotten by all. History and time itself will unravel, and the Wizarding and Muggle worlds will never be the same.This story uses the original material as a blueprint to create a mostly canon-compliant tale that is separate, yet connected to the main series. Copious usage of Original Characters, to the extent that they make up most of the main cast. Scarce romance as this is only the first installment in the series. Hints and implications may ensue, however.
Series: The Carter Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982611
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last Prophecy, Number of Twelve, See What Awaits You, Through Time We Delve

**Prologue**

The Keeper strode purposefully between the towering shelves, the small orbs lining them lighting his form as he wound his way to wherever it was that he apparently needed to be. He was tall, not quite young - but hardly middle-aged - and wore long robes of midnight black that gave him the appearance of a wraith gliding to feast. His face was screwed up with an expression of determined apprehension, and he occasionally threw quick glances down the rows that he passed, as though scanning for interlopers. He twitched at every distant clatter, every echoing creak. The sounds of thousands of ancient shelves shifting naturally, or the telltale indications of lurking danger?

The Keeper finally began to slow as he came to an opening at the far end of the Hall, from which thick cerulean fog wafted. Beyond was a chamber, apparently lit by a spectral glow far greater than the millions of coruscant balls on the shelves. The Keeper drew his wand; a dark, richly carved thing, and entered.

The small room resembled an office, and along the walls were runic inscriptions in all manner of ancient script. Parts of the assorted cuneiform and hieroglyphs were radiating the blue energy, and must have made sense to the Keeper as he examined them with palpable anxiety.

“Týr... Gēr... Hobble and two strokes,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse. “Thurisaz... and the House... The dragon or serpent... The eagle, no, the rook?”

Biting his lip, he turned at once to the desk opposite the doorway, upon which sat an elaborately carved basin - the source of the cerulean clouds. The basin was full to the brim with a blue potion that was, at present, bubbling ferociously. The liquid seemed to move as though it were a living thing, dancing and leaping about, though not a drop spilled upon the hard stone floor.

The Keeper approached cautiously, his wand rising before him. He motioned with his wand and an invisible force seemed to settle itself over the room, concealing all sound from escaping. Up close to the basin, the Keeper could see ephemeral patterns that swam about in the glowing elixir, mysteriously fading in and out. With his wand, he tapped the basin’s edge once, twice, before stepping back.

From the basin, two miniature figures emerged. They were oddly suspended in the air, and below them hovered words - their names. One of them was speaking, their harsh voice echoing eerily. The Keeper listened intently, letting the dreadful words wash over him. He gazed particularly upon one of the figures, with horrid recognition etched upon his features. When the display had fallen silent, the Keeper quickly approached. He waved his wand in a complicated motion, muttering strange words in some tongue. At once the figures dissolved and began to coalesce into a single shape. In a matter of seconds the figures had spun into a glassy ball much like the countless in the Hall, complete with a radiant blue core.

Seeing the new prophecy suspended in the air, one could almost convince themselves that this orb was a harmless light fixture, but the Keeper was under no delusion in regards to this cursed artefact. Shaking his head slightly as if trying to loosen cobwebs, he swept from the room, the spun-glass orb following in his grim wake. He made his way through the rows of the Hall, glancing at the numbers counting down with every new shelf. Finally, he found the row he was looking for and made his way about halfway down its length, the shelves on either side creating the claustrophobic sense of walls closing in. The Keeper stopped and looked at a vacant space between two orbs whose lights had extinguished entirely. As if sensing that their journey was complete, the new orb floated down onto the shelf, sitting just above an empty plaque. The Keeper once again waved his wand, and the plaque suddenly changed to include a series of initials and words.

The Keeper stood there, gazing at the prophecy with trepidation. He seemed deep in thought. After several minutes of near absolute stillness, he turned from the shelf and left, marching with much the same expediency as before, his wand held at the ready.

“You’re out at an odd hour, Carter,” said the watchwizard as the golden lift deposited the Keeper into the enormous atrium.

“Urgent call,” he replied shortly, his voice echoing oddly in the wide chamber.

“I’ll bet it’s better than having to deal with a baby and pregnant wife, though, right?”

The Keeper didn’t respond, he simply crossed the cavernous room to one of the many fireplaces along the walls and threw a handful of powder into it. Once he had disappeared in a flash of viridian flame, the watchwizard rolled his eyes.

“Unspeakables,” he muttered to himself. “Grimmest lot I ever saw. You’d think it was the end of the bloody world.”


	2. Rollercoaster and Riddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Puzzle, Perhaps Riddle. Of fun and poems: I know little.

**Rollercoaster and Riddles**

As she stepped out onto the hearth, Beverly Carter suddenly had the impression that a small dark-haired missile had launched itself at her.

“Mummy!” it screamed excitedly, as it collided with surprising force considering its size.

Beverly recovered quickly and hugged her daughter. “Lindsay!”

“Hi Mum,” came another voice, and Beverly looked up to see her elder child, Scott, smiling brightly at her. “I thought you wouldn’t be getting off work for a few more hours?”

“Turns out the stadium was quicker to disassemble than they thought, though Matt Turner tried to keep me to rub Canada’s win in my face. Almost threatened to have him dismissed from the council.”

Beverly worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, as Permanent Delegate to the International Confederation of Wizards. She wasn’t sure if her children knew precisely what her job title was, however, as their eyes seemed to glaze over whenever she told them. To her children it meant that their mother was often overseas one moment, and hopefully back in North Yorkshire before dinner.

Beverly looked at the coffee table - behind which sat Scott - and the mess of paper and pencils arrayed across it.

“So what have you two been up to?”

“We were drawing the Scottish and Canadian teams, Lindy drew the Scots and I-“

“Drawed the Canadians ‘cause you wanted to draw their Seeker,” Lindsay interrupted impishly.

“Lindy!” Scott cried indignantly, his face filling with colour.

“It’s true! He fancies her!” Lindsay sang, “ _Scott fancies Leblanc! Scott fancies Leblanc!_ ”

Scott stood up furiously, attempting to yell over his sister’s loud voice, “I do not!”

His face only coloured further, exposing the attempt as the blatant lie that it was. Beverly decided to end the argument there, as Scott looked as if he was about to throw the eraser he was holding, and she knew for a fact that his aim was good enough to hurt.

“That’s enough, you two! Lindsay Carter, you know better than to tease your brother! And Scott...”

He looked at her mutinously, expecting to be told off for nothing.

“That’s a very nice drawing,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m sure Ms. Leblanc would be very flattered”.

Lindsay giggled, and Scott rolled his eyes, although she could see he was smiling again. Beverly glanced at the family clock, which was enchanted to track the locations and movements of the entire family. Where there were normally numbers, were instead words such as ‘travelling’, ‘on holiday’, and where the twelve normally sat was occupied by ‘mortal peril’. Each family member had a hand with their name on it. The hands labelled ‘Beverly’, ‘Scott’, and ‘Lindsay’ all pointed to ‘home’, while the fourth hand, labelled ‘Nathan’, was still affixed to ‘work’.

“Hey mum?” Scott said in askance.

She turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“Since tomorrow’s weekend and you don’t have work, could we go to Diagon Alley and get my school stuff?”

“Can I go to Demelza’s house tomorrow please, mum?” Lindsay asked.

“Yes, of course you can go, sweetie. And Scott, that’s a good idea, I was thinking we ought to soon. You start in a week, and you can’t go off and study magic without a wand, can you?”

Scott shrugged as if to say ‘no big deal’. “Not unless I use wandless magic”.

“I don’t doubt you’d be able to. That incident before the holidays nearly broke the Statute of Secrecy into a million bits,” Beverly said sternly.

Scott looked outraged. “Darren Gilkes said he saw me kiss Caitlin Bennett behind the gymnasium! How was I supposed to react!?”

“ _Did_ you kiss Caitlin Bennett behind the gymnasium?”

“Irrelevant.”

Scott was saved further humiliation by Lindsay screaming in excitement, “Daddy’s coming!”

She was right. The clock-hand labelled ‘Nathan’ had flicked to ‘travelling’, and at the precise moment that it flicked to ‘home’, the fireplace erupted with green flame. Lindsay did her best impression of a bludger again, though her father managed to keep his balance better than her mother had. Nathan was a tall and solidly built man, with cropped golden-brown hair. His complexion was far paler than his wife’s, and at present he was looking quite cheerful.

“How was everyone’s day?” he asked.

“Good,” said Scott.

“Good,” echoed Lindsay, muffled slightly as her face was buried in Nathan’s side.

“I heard you’ve managed to get rid of the stadium already,” he directed at his wife.

Beverly stepped forward and planted a kiss on his lips. “Never miss a trick, do you?”

“Mum, dad, no PDA in front of us!” Scott squawked, making shooing motions with his hands.

Beverly smirked, muttering, “I’m sure Darren Gilkes said much the same to you and Caitlin Bennett.”

“Mum!”

“Caitlin Who-now?” Nathan asked, looking curiously between them.

Lindsay, seeing her mum stoop to her level, took her opportunity to add her two knuts. “He just wishes it was him and Leblanc.”

“Leblanc?” Nathan chortled, while Lindsay grinned evilly.

Scott later swore that he hadn’t meant to fling the eraser at his sister’s nose; his magic had simply reacted that way. This was, of course, a lie, as both he and Beverly well knew by his cheeks which made Pinocchio’s nose look discrete.

* * *

The following morning the family busied themselves getting ready for their respective days out. Once they were finished, they gathered in the lounge room to pass the time before setting off. Beverly flicked through the Daily Prophet, while Scott repeatedly read through his Hogwarts equipment list. Lindsay was deep in an animated discussion with her father, recounting what she and Demelza Robins had done the other day.

“And then Demelza and I ate Fizzing Whizbees-“

“Did you see what Lamont said about the Snitch he missed, dear?”

“Hmm?” Nathan looked up from his daughter, looking faintly relieved at not having to feign interest in a story he’d heard repeated three times already. Of course, he wasn’t nearly as invested in Quidditch as the rest of his family, though he’d picked up some degree of passion in recent years.

“Apparently, he blames his father’s genes. Made his fingers too short, he says.”

Nathan snorted in derision.

“-And when Mrs. Robins saw us floating away she started screaming because she’s a Muggle, and then-“

He checked his watch and stood, “Well, I ought to head off now. Saul wanted to speak with me about something this morning, and I hate to keep the man waiting.”

“No, don’t go yet! You’re always at work!” Lindsay cried.

“Your father’s Head of Department, sweetie. He’s got to be at work more now.”

If Beverly was honest with herself, she much preferred her husband’s current schedule compared to the one he’d been stuck with in the war a decade prior. She remembered vividly waking to him leaping out of bed, and throwing his robes on every few nights.

“Urgent call,” was what he had always said, leaving her with a kiss and a look of barely concealed anxiety.

He left her now with a much more passionate kiss goodbye, though ruined slightly by the retching sounds from Scott’s direction.

After he had left, she sent Lindsay on through to the Robins’ residence. Once she had disappeared in a whirl of flame she turned to Scott.

“So, hon, got your list?”

He waved it lazily in affirmation.

“Good. Want to go first?”

He evidently did. He confidently stepped forward, taking a handful of Floo Powder from the pot on the mantle. After throwing it into the fireplace (green flames burst into life) he stooped over and stepped in. Then he called clearly, “The Leaky Cauldron!”

* * *

Scott stepped out of the fireplace into the dingy pub. He tried his best not to wobble as he walked. As casual as he acted, he still wasn’t used to the Floo Network like adults were. It wasn’t particularly easy to keep your balance after blasting through an inter-ignis system of fireplaces at speeds the human body shouldn’t be able to accommodate. Behind him his mother emerged far more gracefully than he had, although Floo travel never seemed to agree with her hair, which always seemed to frizz up more than usual as a result.

Together they wove their way through the tables and chairs to the backdoor of the pub, where a small courtyard sat. Scott’s mother drew out her wand and tapped a single brick on the wall opposite, and suddenly the wall seemed to open up.

Scott had visited Diagon Alley a few times throughout his life, though it was still quite a remarkable sight. He was used to the subtle wizarding side street Wiggen Lane in Upper Flagley, but Diagon Alley was a diamond in comparison. The street practically bustled, with colourful shops selling all manner of curious objects. Scott, in his infinite curiosity, seemed to resemble a large bird who hadn’t quite worked out glass yet, as he darted from window to window – nearly colliding each time - as the pair made their way up the street.

Shops selling musical instruments that made haunting tones (‘Even ghosts will be spooked!’), a magical creature menagerie where a large ferret made rude hand gestures at passersby (“What’re you staring at, ya’ tosser?”), a cauldron shop with gem encrusted ‘goldrons’ (‘Alchemically infused for the best results!’), and a divination supply store where smoke wafted from, spelling fortunes in the air (‘The fates say you will buy a new tarot deck’). Scott’s mother had to drag him away from the Quality Quidditch Supplies storefront, which displayed the new Cleansweep Seven in its window.

“But mum...”

“But nothing, dear. Your Comet’s plenty fast.”

Scott didn’t remain sulky however; as they were now approaching the impressive marble building that he knew was Gringotts Bank. The bank was run by beings called Goblins, an outrageously clever people, though consistently at odds with wizardkind throughout their shared history. Scott had read about the many Goblin Rebellions against wizard tyranny extensively, though it wasn’t often that he actually got to see one of the diminutive people as they often lived in small communities separate from wizarding populations. The Ministry of Magic often said this was for their own good, as allowing wizards and goblins to live together was apparently ‘recipe for disaster’. Scott’s mother always seemed to find issue with this line of logic, but Scott wasn’t sure whether there was a point arguing with the Ministry when they seemed so certain.

Stepping up to the front doors of the bank – a pair of enormous slabs crafted from burnished bronze – Scott saw a goblin dressed in scarlet and gold. His face was swarthy like Scott’s, though the similarities ended there. The goblin was almost two heads shorter than he was, had long pointed fingers, and a short goatee. He bowed them inside where they met two more goblins and a silver door, engraved with words:

Enter stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Suitably impressed, Scott and his mother walked on through to the main lobby of the bank after being bowed through by the two goblins. The hall was enormous, and made of the same marble as the exterior. Hundreds of goblins sat at counters, examining valuables, measuring gemstones on scales. Scott wondered what exactly they did with the valuables as he watched a goblin woman examine a golden urn embellished with symbols with interest. They made their way up to her.

“Yes?” she queried.

“Good morning,” Scott’s mother said primly. “We’re here to make a withdrawal from the Carter vault.”

“And you have your key, miss?” the goblin drawled.

His mother withdrew the key from inside her purse and handed it to the goblin. She checked it over and a moment later called out for another goblin.

“Torvuk! Show the Carters to their vault, would you?”

The goblin called Torvuk stepped up from behind them, apparently primed to leap into action.

“Of course, Lorag!” he cried eagerly.

Lorag looked faintly exasperated at his antics. She handed the vault key to Torvuk and went back to examining the gold urn.

“Come with me, please!” the unusually excitable goblin said, leading the mother and son pair off through one of the doors that lined the walls of the hall.

Beyond was a narrow stone passage lit up by bracketed torches. A rail track led down a steep decline into an unfathomable darkness beyond. A rattling sound emanated from the slope and within seconds a cart rolled up in front of the three of them.

“Cart for the Carters!” Torvuk called, as though he were a train conductor. Scott and his mother glanced at each other, smiles tugging at their lips.

After they had climbed in, they set off down the passage, gaining speed at a momentous rate. Every now and then they would shoot off down a side tunnel, or into a large cavern. It seemed the caves went on for miles under London and Scott found himself wondering how old the system was and how it was the Muggles had never accidentally stumbled upon it. Torvuk was whooping as he steered the cart at increasingly concerning speeds around bends and dips. It was now clear as to why Torvuk seemed so eager to guide patrons to their vaults now; he clearly thought the ride was the most fun anyone could have. Scott heard screaming from his right, and glanced at his mother. He was relieved to see that she was grinning. He decided to join in on her fun, laughing loudly against the buffeting wind as they picked up yet more speed.

On they went, up, down, around. They flipped upside down at one point, the magic of the cart keeping them semi-safe on their seats as they looked down at the stalagmites below their heads. The three of them were screaming now, in a mix of delight and terror, as the deafening rattle of the cart carried them around twists and corkscrews down into the very depths of the Earth. Scott noticed that they’d managed to double back at a few points in order to relive certain moments in the journey. Once or twice he could have sworn that he saw a burst of flame out of a tunnel as they passed, or the distant roar of a great beast. Scott knew that there were dragons guarding some of the vaults, though he didn’t manage to get a good look at any of them as they passed.

Eventually, the ride had to end at some point, and much to the disappointment of all parties, they slowed before a platform suspended over a yawning pit. They all managed to climb out of the cart with some difficulty, as they had collectively forgotten how to walk. They each waddled over to the wide crack in the stone wall opposite the cart. On the other side of the short tunnel from the platform was a large vaulted chamber. Directly opposite the crack in the wall was a large vault door, and sitting in front of it was a creature.

The beast might have seemed at first glance like a particularly large lion, with four legs ending in cat’s paws. A tufted tail flicked behind the creature, hypnotically glancing off the stone flooring. The head of the beast, however, strongly indicated that this being was, in fact, not a lion at all. A woman’s head rested where a lion’s would normally be, and glossy black hair ran down the back of her head. Her eyes were dark and belied an intimidating cunning. She wore a golden headdress - Egyptian in style - with a carved serpent affixed at the peak. She was watching the trio approach expectantly.

Scott was excited. He’d never been to the family vault before, likely the beast before him being the exact reason his parents had never brought him along. He’d seen pictures and carvings of sphinxes before. Once, his mother had attended a Confederation summit in Cairo. He’d come along because the country had fascinated him, but the closest he’d gotten to a sphinx had been the one at Giza. Now that he was here, he restrained himself from asking it about a hundred different questions.

They continued to approach cautiously until the sphinx stopped them.

“Halt,” she said, her powerful voice husky and accented. “If you wish to pass, you must answer me three riddles. If you fail to answer correctly, I will attack. If you choose to leave now, I shall let you go free. Will you choose to hear my riddles?”

Scott’s mother sighed in exasperation. “Well, Torvuk, I suppose this is your area of expertise. Take it away.”

For once the little goblin looked uneasy. “Er, well, riddles aren’t really my speciality, you see.”

His mother seemed to swell with rage. The sphinx merely watched them, waiting patiently.

“Do you mean to tell me,” his mother said in a deadly whisper, her voice shaking slightly, “that you have no idea how to get past this thing?”

Torvuk looked down at his feet, as he shuffled them nervously. When he didn’t respond, she seemed to take that as confirmation.

“Right. Well, I’m rubbish at puzzles and riddles too. So I suppose we’ll just sit here like a load of-“

“I’ll hear your riddles.”

Scott was somewhat shocked by what had come tumbling out of his mouth, but his surprise was nothing in comparison to the thunderstruck expression on his mother’s face.

“ _What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing!?_ ” she cried, a note of anxiety creeping into her voice.

He looked down and saw that he’d taken a tentative step forward in his moment of madness. He breathed in deeply, and then out. Then he looked back up, directly into the almond-shaped eyes of the sphinx.

“I will hear your riddles,” he repeated, clearer this time, attempting to banish the screaming voice of reason from his mind.

The sphinx considered him for a moment before nodding, “Very well.”

“Scott, dear, have you _really_ thought this through? We won’t be allowed to help you, you know.”

He didn’t look away from the sphinx’s eyes, but responded, “Of course I’ve thought it through.”

It wasn’t strictly a lie; he had considered what he could learn from the experience and judged it worth risking his life. Just because he’d thought about it didn’t mean his resolution had to be _logical_ , necessarily. The sphinx opened her mouth, and Scott’s mother instantly ceased her refutations.

“A word I know, six letters it contains, remove one letter, and twelve remains. What am I?”

Scott blinked, breaking eye contact with the sphinx. In typical riddle fashion, the question made no sense when taken for its literal meaning. Numerically, the digits given could not possibly subtract and then equal twelve. He knew there was a trick, a double meaning, but the question was; where was it located? He tried to envision the words in his mind’s eye, as if it were written out on a sheet of paper. This didn’t help much, and so he altered his approach.

As he considered, he muttered aloud, “Letters, letters... A post box? Hang on, how many letters does ‘post box’ have?” He counted in his head.

The sphinx was pacing now, striding across the front of the vault door. Scott’s mother was gripping Torvuk’s long-fingered hand tightly, her nervousness palpable.

“No... Nothing to do with post... Twelve... Twelve... A dozen. Wait, a dozen! How many letters does ‘dozen’ have? Damn, only five. But, six take one is five! So...”

He looked back up at the sphinx, feeling confident in his answer, “The answer is ‘dozens’”

She had stopped pacing, standing before him, almost uncomfortably close now.

“You are certain of your answer?”

He heard his mother squeak behind him.

“Yes.”

The sphinx smiled, those dark eyes dancing with amusement. “Correct," she purred.

Scott let out a gust of breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Torvuk began clapping raucously, cheering on his success. Then the sphinx opened her mouth again.

“We sound like Eden as a pair.

Make us wait, we won’t play fair.

Sometimes consensus, most times schism.

Often locked away in prism.

If by chance you seek, then throw.

The serpent sees where we meet low.

It is midnight when we meet high,

But separate us, and we die.”

Scott’s mouth fell open. This sounded far more complex than the last. He glanced back at his mother and the goblin to see that they looked as clueless as him. The sphinx looked expectant.

“Er, could you repeat that, please?”

She did so, but a simple retread of the ominous piece of poetry didn’t suddenly allow him to alight upon the answer. He began his muttering once again.

“A pair, if alone, then they die. Hmm... ‘Sounds like Eden’. Maybe Adam and Eve? The serpent fits I suppose. The rest, though...”

He thought in silence for a few moments.

“When they meet high, it’s midnight... The moon? No... Are there some constellations I’m not thinking of? And that wordplay... Prism... Maybe light through a prism? Come on, Scott, you’ve studied geometry...”

He stared off into space for several more seconds. He imagined that if one were to watch him, they would be able to actually see his brain working furiously to come to the answer. The sphinx was pacing again, only a few feet away.

“’If by chance... Then throw’...”

He suddenly stopped dead. No, there was no way... But then-

“’Make us wait’? Or weight? Weighted...” He looked around the room, not really seeing, “Prism – A cube! ‘Sound like Eden’ – like paradise? Or sin? The serpent, midnight – snake eyes! Six and six is twelve! _Of course!_ ”

He looked back at the sphinx, giddy with glee.

“’Separate us, and we _die!_ ’ That’s the answer! Dice!”

She looked rather pleased, too. Smiling broadly she asked again: “You are certain of your answer?”

Grinning stupidly, he nodded, too proud of himself to speak.

“Correct.”

His mum joined in on the whooping this time. He did several star jumps if only to relieve some of the built up energy and tension. When he felt relatively calm again, he saw that the sphinx had sat back down, though she was now only four feet away. She was quite large and practically towered over him. He could feel her breath on his face, and suddenly he was nervous again.

“For the third challenge, you shall instead solve a puzzle of logic. Most fail such challenges, but I have decided that you ought to try.”

Her tail flicked excitedly. Scott’s heart seemed to have taken up residence somewhere in his throat and he swallowed convulsively as though attempting to dislodge it.

“You’re a thief-“

“What?” Scott cried, sounding strangled.

The sphinx raised an eyebrow, as if to indicate that he was being rude, before continuing.

“You’re a thief, and you have managed to get past me into this vault. Inside there are one hundred sacks of coins. One of the sacks is filled with golden Galleons, whilst the other ninety-nine are filled with leprechaun gold, and will vanish after twenty-four hours. You cannot tell the difference between the genuine Galleons and the fakes by handling the coins, looking at them, biting them, or testing them.”

He nodded, following so far, though he could already tell this would be the most difficult challenge yet.

“The fake coins weigh exactly one ounce each, whilst the real coins weigh 1.01 ounces. Luckily, there is a large scale with enough room for all the sacks in the vault, but as soon as you weigh something it will trigger a Caterwauling Charm, so you may only use the scale once before you must flee the vault. How can you figure out which sack of coins contains the real gold by only weighing something on the scale once?”

Scott massaged his temple. Arithmetic. He could see what she had meant about most failing. This would not be simple at all. He turned to his mother.

“Could I have some parchment, quill, and inkwell, mum?”

A minute later he was writing a series of numbers, pairing a one over a hundred, then two over ninety-nine. The rows continued for a while until he ran out of space, at which point he started cursing softly under his breath. Sweat had started to drip down his face, and his hands were clammy on the quill. He realised that the parchment was effectively useless at that point and scrunched it up and threw it away.

“Could I have another bit of parchment, mum?” he said, desperately trying to keep his voice level.

Another few minutes passed with little progress. He kept attempting to come at the issue from different angles, using different equations. He had to have his mum refill the inkwell for him now and then, and she was quickly running out of spare parchment. He asked the sphinx to repeat the puzzle, and digested the possibilities he was afforded in the hypothetical. The issue he was running into was that he had no way of knowing just how many coins were in each sack. But if he could circumvent that issue entirely... His mind returned to the first technique he’d attempted. He whipped out the only bit of parchment left, now that he’d bled his Mum dry, his Hogwarts equipment list. Time ticked by until Scott eventually managed to come to a solution that followed the instructions given.

“If I take a coin out of one sack, two out of another, then three from a third, and then so on, then place each sack on the scale, then I’d get a number. The equation I used would make the number five-thousand and fifty, though that’s a hypothetical for the sake of problem solving. So fifty-fifty ounces. But the real coins are more than an ounce. So if I weighed the coins I took out and got, say, fifty-fifty-point-twelve ounces, then that means the real Galleons are in the twelfth sack I took from. If I got fifty-fifty-one, then the last sack had the Galleons, although now a lot of its spilled on the pile.”

He looked up expectantly from where he was kneeling on the floor. The sphinx watched him expressionlessly for a few moments. It occurred to him that should she pounce now, he would have no chance of escape.

Finally, she spoke: “Are you certain of your answer?”

Scott looked at his mother, at Torvuk, down at the graffitied equipment list, and back to the sphinx.

“Uh, yeah.”

Suddenly, she shifted. Scott cringed on the floor, for a moment expecting the powerful paws to come crashing down upon him, but instead she stepped aside.

“Congratulations. You may now enter the vault.”

She was smiling broader than he’d seen from her so far. It took a few seconds for his victory to register in any of them, but when he did they all started celebrating so loudly that Scott wouldn’t have been surprised if the goblins back in the lobby could hear.

He looked back at the sphinx, who seemed quite pleased. He knew sphinxes revelled in watching the unravelling process, and as she sat there watching them, he found himself asking her a question this time.

“Before we leave, I wanted to ask you your name?”

She raised her eyebrows in faint surprise.

“I am called Sanura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sanura,” he said, bowing.

“Likewise, Scott Carter.”


	3. Wand and Walkman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart of Dragon, Wood of Horn. A Love of Music Takes it's Form

**Wand and Walkman**

The cart ride back to the lobby was significantly shorter than the trip to the vault, and Scott guessed it was because Torvuk was so shell-shocked after the run-in with the sphinx. He had sincerely promised - as Scott had grabbed handfuls of bronze knuts, silver sickles, and golden galleons - that he would touch up on his riddling skills. At present, the bulging bag of coins was jingling around inside his mother’s handbag as the cart rattled up to the passageway just off the lobby.

They departed, Scott giving his farewells to the small man. His mother had every appearance of wanting to exit the bank as quick as possible, and so he allowed her to lead him outside. Neither of them spoke as they strode down the street, which had become significantly busier since they had entered the bank. If he had to guess, Scott would have guessed it was about lunch-time. Certainly, his stomach seemed to concur, as it gave a low, hungry grumble.

He wondered if his mother was preparing to scold him, and had just about resigned himself to missing out on buying his Hogwarts gear today when they suddenly stopped outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour. Somewhat confused, he followed inside.

“Afternoon, Florean.”

“Adams! And a young Carter! What might your name be?”

The man was about middle-aged, and looked quite genial.

“Scott. Pleased to meet you, sir,” he replied politely.

Florean chuckled. “Sir! I went to school with your parents, kiddo, you can call me Florean. I have to say, you look mighty like the two of them.”

Scott wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to this, so he settled for a smile. He still didn’t know what was happening, but he hadn’t been punished yet, so he was perfectly content to stand in this shop talking to strangers.

“I’ll take a double scoop strawberry and mint chocolate, and a three scoop peanut butter and chocolate, please Florean.”

“Always the same, aren’t you, Bev?” he said, winking good-naturedly.

His mother rolled her eyes as the man busied himself scooping up the dairy product. Now Scott was extraordinarily confused, as she’d selected his favourite mixture of ice cream. His mother was pulling out a handful of knuts to pay, when Florean waved her attempt away.

“You don’t pay here.”

“Oh don’t be so ridiculous.”

“I’m serious, Adams, it’s on the house.”

“Don’t know how you expect to stay in business, you stupid man.”

“Ah well,” he said, shrugging. “I suppose you’ll be able to say I told you so when I end up on the street.”

The good-natured ribbing between the two reminded Scott somewhat of him and his sister, which was unusual to watch, as his mother had been an only child. It was perhaps even stranger to hear his mother referred to by her maiden name by someone he’d never met before.

Once they’d taken their ice creams, Florean said, “Have a pleasant rest of the day, you two. Give Nate my regards, and Scott; feel free to drop by for a complementary ice cream or two any time!”

“Bye si - Florean!” Scott called as they stepped out of the parlour.

The two of them sat at a table outside the store, facing each other. They licked their ice creams silently for a while before his mother looked him straight in the eye.

“Before I say anything, I want you to know that I’m not angry at you.”

Scott blinked. He thought he’d put more than a few toes over the line with the stunt in the vaults, and had expected something different to the serious but calm look on his mother’s face.

“However,” she continued (ah, there it was), “I also want to say that you shouldn’t have done what you did. It was beyond risky, and I can’t bear to think about what might have happened if... Well...”

“But nothing did happen, mum,” he dared to interrupt. “It was fine, I managed to answer all her questions.”

“That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. What you showed down there, well, let me just say that may be the proudest I’ve ever been of you before,” her voice caught slightly, “Even more than when you said ‘mumma’ as your first words.”

Scott suddenly felt a warmth spread throughout his body that the freezing confectionery he was eating couldn’t stifle.

They finished their ice creams in relative silence after that, and then attempted to decipher the Hogwarts equipment list through the blotchy scribbles Scott had left on the parchment whilst calculating the sphinx’s puzzle.

“Well, I’m not sure what ‘One winter n over two by n plus one’ is, but I’m sure it’s _very_ important for your schoolwork,” his mother said archly.

“Not as important as ’fifty by one-oh-one by Emeric Switch’, surely?”

They eventually set off for Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, where Scott was instructed to stand on a footstool to be measured and fitted for his school uniform. Standing on the footstool beside him was a tall boy with dark hair and a very pale face. The boy didn’t look at him.

“Hi. You already at Hogwarts?” Scott said, as a squat witch pinned up the robes she had slipped over his head.

The boy glanced at him, then away. “No, I start next week.”

Scott grinned easily at him. “Same. You know much about the school?”

“Bits.”

Scott wasn’t one to be deterred by a lack of conversational abilities when it came to one of the few people he knew would be in his year. “Your parents around?”

“Yes.”

Scott glanced over in his mum’s direction to see if the boy had any guardians to speak of, and sure enough he saw a slightly portly man deep in discussion with his mother. He guessed the man was the boy’s father only because there were no other people in the shop, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to make the connection at all. There didn’t seem to be much of a resemblance between the man and his son, either physically or in general demeanour.

“That’s you done, dear,” the witch attending to the pale boy said kindly, and he stepped off the stool and made his way over to his father.

“See you at school!” Scott called after him.

When Scott’s uniform was purchased, the mother and son duo made their way to Flourish and Blotts to purchase the extensive booklist-mandated tomes.

“Making friends with Haworth’s son, dear? That’s good to see.”

“Haworth?”

“Edgar Haworth, he runs a shop up in Hogsmeade.”

“His son wasn’t too chatty.”

His mother thought on that for a moment. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t be,” she said mysteriously.

“Why?”

“Not really my business to go telling tall tales about boys in your year, love. Maybe you could ask him at school?”

Judging from the extremely one-sided conversation they’d just had, Scott estimated the success chance of such a discussion to be somewhere below zero.

Flourish and Blotts, like all bookstores, was something of a source of excitement for Scott. His mother refused to buy him another Gilderoy Lockhart book (“You’ve enough of them to make a bookshelf already.”) and found the idea of purchasing ‘Troll Hunts: A History of Sheer Dumb Luck’ abhorrent (“What on Earth could be interesting about dead trolls?”), but Scott was mostly content with the seven new books they’d bought (“You’ve already got ‘A History of Magic’”).

Next they picked up a cauldron (sadly not gem encrusted gold), a set of glass phials, a potion-kit, a telescope set, and brass scales (“Might come in handy if I ever get into thieving.”). Finally, all that was left to buy was Scott’s very own wand. They made their way back up the street to a small and shabby store. Gold letters over the door named the shop as ‘Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C’.

As they stepped inside, a bell tinkled somewhere off in the distance, beyond the stacks of thousands of narrow boxes that gave the narrow shop an even more claustrophobic feel. His mother sat on a spindly old chair as they waited to be served. Scott found the shop fascinating, and the hair on his arms stood on end. It was as though some ancient magic filled every corner of the room. It was everything he could have dreamed of.

He spotted an elderly man seemingly glide out between two shelves of wands, and he knew that this must be Ollivander. He was looking at the two of them with eyes that seemed to glow silver in the dim light that filtered in through the dusty window.

“Good afternoon,” Ollivander said softly.

Scott could tell at once that the man was a genius simply by his eccentric demeanour. The unblinking owl eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul belied a man who was not all there, and yet far more ‘there’ than anyone you would ever meet.

“Hello, sir,” he replied.

“Scott Carter. And, of course, Madam Carter. Yes, I did wonder when I’d be seeing you cross the threshold,” he focused his pale eyes on Scott’s mother, “Ash, Phoenix feather, nine and a half inches, pliable. Good for duelling, in moderation.”

His mother nodded somewhat awkwardly.

Ollivander approached Scott swiftly, a measuring tape in hand. “Now, Mr. Carter, which is your wand hand?”

Scott held out his right arm, not wishing to say anything in case he broke the man out of his element. He wanted to hear everything the odd old man had to say.

“Now, every single Ollivander wand contains a core of powerful magical essence, sourced directly from magical creatures. I use phoenix feathers, unicorn hairs, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two phoenixes, unicorns, or dragons are the same. And of course, you are unlikely to obtain such good results with the wand of another witch or wizard.”

Just about every aspect of Scott’s body was being measured by the tape, which floated about on its own. Satisfied by the tape measure’s findings, Ollivander called it off and moved over to the shelves, taking down boxes. He returned with one, a wand sitting in its narrow confines. “Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Feeling excited, Scott took the wand from the box, but before he could even wave it through the air, Ollivander had snatched it back, muttering. “Never mind, worth a try. That wand seems to dislike just about everyone.”

Suddenly, Scott could no longer help himself. “It dislikes them? So, does that mean wands think? Feel?”

Ollivander smiled, and acquiesced to the question. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Some wands are particularly more aware than others. A wand must feel if it is to choose a wizard to whom it bonds.”

He was flitting between shelves again, pulling down yet more boxes. “Cypress and unicorn hair. Eleven and a quarter inches. Firm... Ah, certainly not... Perhaps this: maple and phoenix feather, fourteen inches. Springy. Not quite.” He pulled the wand from his wand and returned to the shelves.

Scott’s mother was looking faintly amused at the repeated wand-snatchings as her son stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Ollivander bustled back, a single box gripped in his bony, spotted hands.

“I do hate to see it go. I hold somewhat of a deep affection for this specimen, but if the glove fits...” He proffered the box toward Scott, where a pale wand rested. “Hornbeam and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches. Supple.”

Scott’s hand came down and clamped around the wand. He raised it, and as he did he felt a most unusual sensation. It was like energy surged through him, down his fingers, his arm, and into his very being. He acted on instinct and waved the wand. A shower of gold and bronze sparks flew from the wand tip, dissipating before touching the floor. Ollivander clapped his hands together, and smiled, though it seemed bittersweet.

“Yes, hornbeam. Used in my very own wand. No doubt it sees in you a pure vision, which some call obsession. Perhaps the most sentient of wand woods, and particularly fine-tuned.”

Scott looked at the man eagerly, desperate to hear more.

“Hornbeam wands, of course, adapt to their owners faster than any other. They become so personalised, that they absorb your very ethics, your beliefs. Your principles become its principles. You will no doubt find that this wand listens to you better than any one person is ever wont to do.”

“What about the core, sir? What significance does that have?”

Ollivander seemed quite eager to impart his wisdom to someone so receptive and so continued; “I recall the obtaining of the heartstring that lies within your new wand. The Black I harvested it from died tragically, you see. I was unfortunate enough to witness it. She left behind a large brood, I believe. But she was _magnificent_.” He watched the wand held in Scott’s hand, his eyes shining with reverence. “A dragon’s heart holds great power, for it is the organ that pumps the ever-potent blood of the beasts. Dragon heartstrings give a wand raw power that can be as hard to tame as the creatures they came from.”

Scott, it seemed, was not yet satisfied. “And then what about the wand length?”

“Okay, I think that’s enough now, boys,” his mother interrupted, a note of exasperation evident in her tone.

“Alas, your mother speaks the truth, Mr. Carter. Hurry along now, you wouldn’t want to see her upset, I’m sure.”

It was a clear dismissal, and Scott slinked from the store dejectedly after paying (twelve galleons) and saying his goodbyes. “Why’d we have to leave?” he asked his mother as they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Scott had already made the conscious decision to forgo an animal, citing the upkeep as being too time-consuming.

“Because if I hadn’t stepped in when I did, you two would have been talking til the cows came home.”

Once they had returned to the dingy pub, Scott turned, expecting to head over to the fireplace off to the side. He was confused, not for the first time that day, when his mother continued on to the door that led out to Muggle London.

“Er, what exactly are we doing?” he asked as he hastened to follow.

“I thought you ought to have something since you didn’t want an animal. There’s a music store next door, so I thought you’d want something from there?”

Pleasantly surprised, he nodded his agreement. As they opened the door to the non-magical city that lay beyond, Scott suddenly found himself colliding head-on with something – or someone.

“Ow, sorry!” Scott exclaimed as the person fell over. He reached down to help them up to see that they were a blond boy, but as he pulled him to his feet, he realised that he’d been wrong. He’d somehow mistaken this girl for a boy, though he could have sworn – wait, _what?_

Scott blinked rapidly as the girl he had thought a boy suddenly seemed to sprout up a few inches, and now looked resolutely male again. He (she?) shot a terrified look at Scott and darted away with his (her?) parents, who had stepped past while he’d been focused on their child. By the time Scott had managed to process what he’d just witnessed, his mother was dragging him by the hand from the pub and onto the street.

“He – she – they were a –“

“Come on, dear, it’s rude to stare.”

Scott continued to mull over the rarity that he’d just witnessed, contemplating many things as they stepped into the record store beside the Leaky Cauldron. Inside was a vast collection of vinyl records and cassette tapes. Posters and price numbers polluted the walls, and shelves held an assortment of CDs and their players. A speaker somewhere in the store played an Elton John song.

“Afternoon,” the man at the checkout called.

Scott and his mum echoes the man’s greeting and began looking through the store’s stock with interest. His mother pointed out several of her old favourite songs by bands whose members had long ago disbanded.

_“I never dreamed I could cry so hard_

_That ain’t like a man_

_I could fly like a bird some days_

_Had a place where I could land.”_

He idly nodded his head to the beat of the tune playing, while examining a twelve-inch record. A passion for music was something that he and his mother shared, though Scott had lately been try to experiment with different styles to find his exact taste. He didn’t want to just listen to everything his mum did all the time. Of course, he wouldn’t have listened to Muggle music at all if it hadn’t been for her hooking him on it years prior.

“Scott, dear, could you come over here, please?”

He obeyed, walking over to where his mother was leaning over to look at a small box on a shelf.

“Yes?”

“Well, this is that new walker-man, right?”

“Walkman,” he corrected, looking at the product. He’d seen it in a magazine before; the EX17.

_“That’s not the way it’s supposed to be_

_It ain’t the spell that I was sold.”_

“Would you like it?”

_“But giving into the night-time_

_Ain’t no cure for the pain_

_You gotta wade into the water_

_You gotta learn to live again!”_

“Seriously? I can have it? But it isn’t my birthday, or –“

“Do you want the walkman or not?”

“Of course!”

His mum smiled. “Then it’s settled. I’ll get you a few cassettes to go with it, too.”

* * *

When Beverly told Nathan about the day’s events, she had expected him to be proud, and quite impressed in his son. She hadn’t quite guessed that he’d be as overjoyed as he was now, though. He had pat Scott rigorously on the back and heaped more praise on him than she’d heard him give anyone in years.

“A Ravenclaw for sure!” he cried excitedly, quite forgetting his dinner going cold in front of him.

“Now, now, Nate. We don’t know anything for certain yet.”

He snorted derisively. “I don’t know how you can still hope for Gryffindor after today, Bev.”

“Maybe he’ll be a Hufflepuff,” Lindsay said teasingly.

“There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, sweetie,” Beverly reminded her daughter. “Or Slytherin,” she said, seeing her open her mouth again.

Scott had remained somewhat quiet throughout the discussion, and still looked a little awkward as his father turned back to him.

“You’ll go on to do great things, son. I know it. I can already imagine.” He grinned, “Maybe you can work in the Department with me, eh? Might even supplant me, put me back in the Hall of –“

“Yes?”

“Never you mind,” he said, waving his fork at his son sternly.

Scott often went to great lengths to find out what his father worked on in the Department of Mysteries, but true to the name most attributed to those that worked there, Nathan Carter considered his work entirely unspeakable.

“You know, Bev, I’ve heard through the grapevine that Minister Bagnold’s considering retirement.”

It was a clear change of subject, but Scott must have guessed correctly that his father wouldn’t let up tonight, despite his good mood.

“Yes, I suppose the Department Heads would be finding out soon. The Daily Prophet hasn’t heard yet, luckily, but Millicent said she simply doesn’t know if she wants to continue the upkeep of the job, especially given her personal issues.”

“Will Crouch be running for the position, do you think?”

“Barty?” she asked. “Well, he might give it a crack, but I reckon he can’t hold out in his own Department. He’ll be shunted into mine sooner or later, especially if Fudge gets the job.”

Lindsay was picking at her lettuce with a glazed expression in her eyes, clearly bored senseless by the talk of politics.

“So what did you and Demelza get up to today, sweetie?”

By the time her daughter had finished describing in detail how she had terrorised Demelza Robins’ cat and mother by riding around on broomsticks, an hour had passed. After she had tucked Lindsay into bed and kissed her goodnight (“But why can’t I stay up like Scott?”), she poked her head into her son’s room after warning him with a knock. He was lying on his bed with headphones on, with one of his Hogwarts books open in front of him.

“Scott?” she tried. “Scott!”

He nearly leapt out of his skin, apparently so engrossed that he had only just noticed her in his room. He pulled off his headphones, blaring music audible from their speakers.

“Yeah?”

“I had an idea. Could I have your walkman for a moment?”

He looked apprehensively at her. “What for?”

“I thought I’d charm it a little. I can think of a handy spell that might make it even better than it already is.”

He considered for a moment, before saying; “Isn’t that illegal?”

“If you’re planning on using the Muggle artefact for something it wasn’t designed for, it is. The charm I’m thinking of would just make it... better.”

He handed the walkman over, its headphones still attached. “Well, if you think you know something cool for it.”

Taking the walkman in one hand, she drew her wand out with her other. She waved it over the device, and muttered, “Mnemola.” A silvery wisp flew from the tip of her wand and into the machine. “That should do it.”

Scott took it back from her, examining it curiously. “What did you do to it?”

“Well, I used a Memorising Charm on it, which means that once it’s read a tape, it should remember it forever. You won’t need to take them out and put them back in repeatedly, now.”

He seemed awed at her genius. “Wow, thanks, mum!” He even went as far as getting up and hugging her tightly, which wasn’t overly common, as Scott wasn’t much of hugger.

“Now you won’t have to carry all your tapes with you at Hogwarts.”

“Er...” he began.

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s just that I can’t bring the walkman with me anyway. Muggle technology can’t really function at Hogwarts because it’s so magically polluted. It might break it. I read about it in ‘Hogwarts; A History’.”

“Oh,” Beverly said, quite disappointed. She’d been hoping that her son could use the walkman on his morning runs around the Hogwarts lake that he’d mentioned wanting to do. “Well, I’m sure you’ll make good use of it over your holidays. You _are_ planning on coming home this Christmas, right?”

“’Course,” he said.

“Well, at least you’ll have then. Should I say good night now?”

“Sure.”

She kissed him goodnight and left, reminding him to be in bed by ten-thirty. On her way down the stairs from his room, she ran into Nathan coming the opposite way.

“Kids in bed?”

“More or less,” she replied.

“I’m off for a quick shower, care to join me?” he drawled.

She quirked an eyebrow. “You have some nerve,” she said, following him to the ensuite.


	4. Croak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To School We Go, With Friendships Formed. You Heed Your Heart, Thus Two are Scorned

**Croak**

The following week seemed to speed by for Scott, occupied as he was with the wealth of new books and his newly enchanted Walkman, and he suddenly found himself woefully unprepared to actually travel to Hogwarts itself. Notably, on the very last day before Scott was bound for Scotland he found his mother poking her head into his room, surveying the empty trunk beside his bed, and saying sternly; “I don’t want to have to remind you again, young man. Get that trunk of yours packed, soon, or you’ll be at school in nowt but your pants. I won’t be sending your things through the post, either!”

Scott, of course, hadn’t heard what she’d said through the headphones firmly lodged in his ears.

Later, at dinner, he sat down at the table to find a nice kebab prepared to his exact preferences. His mother was an excellent cook, and specialised in all matter of foods from other countries. Among Scott’s favourites sat her rendition of the doner kebab.

“As you’re heading off tomorrow, I thought you might like something nice. They don’t normally have non-British foods at school, you see.”

As Scott thanked her, he heard a small sniff from Lindsay’s direction. She still looked sulky and red-eyed after the tantrum she’d thrown an hour ago.

“But I’m going to be all alone! I only start in two years, why can’t I go, mum?” she had cried loudly two rooms down from his own. She had spent the whole week sinking deeper and deeper into a sullen mood, not helped by the fact that the time Scott had spent with her had become far more infrequent. Now she was glaring at the walkman that was clipped to his trousers as though it had insulted her sundress.

“No music at the table, love,” his mother said - not for the first time - as he raised his headphones to his ears. This was, perhaps, quite a wise decision, as Lindsay’s face had darkened menacingly at the sight of the wires.

Dinner passed without incident after that, and even later, after Scott was discovered by his parents whilst most resolutely not packing his trunk, they bid him goodnight with one last warning as they left.

Deciding that it was now or never, Scott began throwing things that he thought he needed into his trunk. He treated his books with far more care, of course, and was halfway between the trunk and desk when he looked down at the Transfiguration textbook he was transporting. It was still open from when he’d been reading it earlier, and beckoned him to read on with its complex spell methodology and models.

He sat down on his bed to briefly skim the paragraph and diagram that had caught his eye. It was a detail about Inanimate Switching that he’d only barely understood before reaching this point, and it suddenly became several times clearer to him. He laid back, the book in hand, absently reaching for his headphones. He’d just review the basics, and then finish his packing... He’d do it in five minutes... He’d pack when this chapter was over... When he was sure he understood... At midnight, he’d absolutely get back to packing his trunk... At one... When the song was finished...

The alarm screeched into action at six-fifteen in the morning, and the first thing Scott registered as he woke was panic. His headphones hung loose in his ears, still playing music at a lowered volume. He launched himself out of bed, ignoring the stiffness of his limbs, any fog of tiredness banished by the surge of adrenaline that was rushing through him. He threw his books, telescope, walkman, scales, underwear, and robes into the trunk and dashed out of the room, then downstairs. His mother passed him on his way to the kitchen, calling; “We’re off in twenty minutes, you’d better be ready!”

After wolfing down some baked beans, toast, and eggs, he fled to the bathroom, where he furiously attacked his mouth with a toothbrush for a few minutes, before doing the same to his gold-brown hair with a comb (“Five minutes!”) Taking up all of his toiletries in a small leather bag, he tossed them at his trunk as he rushed back into his bedroom. He slammed the case shut, the name ‘Scott H Carter’ emblazoned over its handle. Finally, he threw on some day wear; a pair of jeans, a shirt, and jacket.

He could hear loud beeping from the car horn outside as he dragged the trunk heavily down the stairs, trying not to think too much about how the slightly more fragile items inside would fare. Heaving his trunk into the boot of the car, he leapt into the back seat of the car.

“Sorry Mum, Dad!” he gasped, panting slightly. To his surprise, however, his father was not in the front seat where he had expected him to be. In fact, his father wasn’t in the car at all. Only his sister and mother had decided to accompany him to King’s Cross Station, it seemed.

“I thought Dad was coming?” Scott said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“Yes, he was, but he wanted to leave for work earlier today,” his mum said, bringing the car to a country lane that led through the village of Upper Flagley.

“He doesn’t normally work most Sundays though, does he?”

“No, but he had something he said needed his attention. He seemed pretty pleased.” She looked in the rear-view mirror back at him, smiling sadly at his attempt to not look crestfallen. “He said to wish you his best and that he loves you. He also said,” she continued, rolling her eyes, “to see if you can find Dormitory 12 after you get Sorted.”

“Right.”

“He wanted to be there, Scott.”

“Yeah.”

She sighed, evidently not knowing what to say. The rest of the trip was quiet, which was peculiar for the three who sat in the car. Scott wished fervently that he had his walkman with him, but it was sitting alone in his bedroom. He wondered whether it would gather dust between now and Christmas. Lindsay didn’t look at him much during the trip, and he could tell she was stewing too.

They made it to London with some time to spare, so they were saved most of the stress that getting stuck in the traffic that had swelled over the last few hours might have brought had they been tardier. At ten to eleven they strode up Platform 9 at King’s Cross Station to a barrier that separated the platform from Platform 10.

“Alright, would you like to go first, Scott?” his mother asked kindly.

Scott looked at the barrier uncertainly. “Er, just walk through it?”

“Yes, yes. No reason to be nervous, the platform’s just on the other side.”

He strode forward, dragging his trunk behind him. The moment that he would have collided with the barrier, he instead felt a very slight rushing sensation and he stepped onto a platform that resembled something from Victorian times, with a magical twist. Owls flew overhead, hooting merrily, and a crowd gathered around a fantastic steam locomotive, painted deep crimson. The sign overhead read: Platform 9 ¾.

His mother and sister stepped through behind him, their faces contrasting as they looked around. His mother smiled nostalgically, while his sister looked longingly at the train. Then she turned to face Scott properly, a sincerely miserable expression twisting her face.

“Please don’t go,” she whispered, the sound of which managed to carry despite the thronging crowd.

“Lindy, I swear I’ll write.”

“You don’t even have an owl!” she cried.

“The school has owls, and you can send Merlin,” he said bracingly. Merlin was the family’s owl.

“Promise you’ll be back for Christmas?” she asked, a few tears leaking down her face.

“Promise.” And for good measure, he scooped her up and hugged her tightly. He put her back down after a few moments, and turned to his mum. She hugged him in turn and kissed him on the cheek.

“Have a good term, dear. See if you can find Ethan, you can share a compartment. Love you!”

“Love you, too. Bye Lindy.”

He pulled his trunk onto the train and begun scanning the compartments for Ethan Croaker, his closest wizarding friend since nappies. He must have been somewhere on the other end of the train, however, as after several minutes he still hadn’t managed to find him anywhere. The train had left the station before decided that he couldn’t keep searching if he didn’t want to look like a clueless first-year. He found the first compartment with people who looked his own age, and slid the door open.

Inside, there was a boy and a girl. They both looked up as he walked in; the boy somewhat guardedly, the girl haughtily.

“Hey, mind if I sit here?” Scott asked casually.

“Not at all,” the girl said. She was slight in figure, and her face had a certain calculating quality to it. As she watched him sit down opposite her, Scott was distinctly reminded of the sphinx, Sanura, though without the gold headdress to complete the regal look. “I’m Scarlett. Scarlett Skeres,” she said, sounding as though the name should mean something to him. “And you are?”

“Scott,” he said easily.

“Scott who?”

The interest she was showing in his name made him feel more than a little edgy, and he wondered if she was one of the people that believed that people like his mother shouldn’t be able to learn magic.

“Carter.”

“Carter, huh?” she said, her demeanour changing slightly. “You father works in the –“

“Department of Mysteries, yeah.”

“Do you know what goes on in there, then?” she asked eagerly.

Scott shook his head. “No clue. Not out of lack of trying, though. Sorry, I’ve completely ignored you, I’m Scott.” He was proffering his hand to the boy who was sitting to his left. The boy looked up from the Potions textbook he was engrossed in to reveal messy dark hair and startlingly blue eyes.

The boy took his hand and shook it weakly. “Emile.”

“Emile wh –“

“Emile Pellon,” he said, cutting Skeres off before she could finish.

She surveyed him critically with her dark eyes. “Pellon. You know, that’s not a name I recognise.”

Scott was ready to jump to Emile’s defence before the small boy spoke before he could.

“I don’t suppose you would. I’m French.”

Skeres continued to watch Emile unnervingly. “Really? I don’t hear an accent.”

Scott was watching the exchange uncomfortably, and was about to tell the rude girl to shut up and mind her own business when the boy responded with something he had not been expecting.

“I was raised in England because my parents are dead.”

He said this as though commenting on the weather, which made Scott’s stomach twist with pity. He couldn’t imagine being able to talk about something like that so casually, as though it was no big deal. Evidently even Skeres thought she may have overstepped, as she cringed and looked genuinely apologetic.

“Er, sorry. I don’t know what I was –“ she began awkwardly.

“It’s fine.”

“Right.”

They each sat in silence for a minute until Scott decided he could hardly bare the awkwardness anymore. “So, anyone follow Quidditch?”

Skeres, as it turned out, was a Quidditch fanatic. Unfortunately, she was also a die-hard supporter of the Ballycastle Bats, who had publically humiliated the Wimbourne Wasps – the team Scott followed - in their last match. She seemed to delight in pointing this out to Scott.

“560 – 120! And when Howell smacked that Bludger at the referee!” She laughed, a high-pitched, grating sound, Scott thought. “Did you watch the World Cup?” she asked.

He nodded, still looking slightly disgruntled.

“I thought Canada’d had it by the fourth day of the match, but they really pulled through in the end. And that catch by Leblanc?” Skeres stared off into space dreamily. “What an inspiration.”

Eager to get the conversation as far away from the topic of Leblanc as possible, Scott hastily changed the topic. “So, anyone know what House they’ll get?”

Emile shook his head.

“Well I suppose you wouldn’t, your parents would’ve been at Beauxbatons,” Skeres said to him. “I’ll be in Slytherin, of course.”

“Oh definitely,” Scott said.

She gave him a glowing look. “Thank-you,” she said pleasantly, apparently missing the joke entirely. “Where will you be?”

“Well Dad expects me in Ravenclaw, and I think Mum wants me in Gryffindor, though she won’t say.”

Skeres scoffed. “Gryffindor? That band of idiots? They’re almost as bad as the Hufflepuffs.”

Privately, from what he’d heard of Gryffindor House, Scott thought he shared some degree of distaste. But his mother had enjoyed her time there, and so for her sake he decided to defend it from attack.

“Gryffindor’s fine. My Mum loved it. Besides, they get a really tall tow –“

“Yeah, Gryffindor’s great,” Skeres drawled sarcastically. “Great if you love hanging with blood-traitors and Mudbloods.”

She had finally gone a step too far. Scott leapt to his feet, shaking with rage. “ _What did you say?_ ”

“Mudbloods, Carter. M-U-D-B-L –“

“Shut up!”

“Sorry,” she said, feigning innocence. “I thought you asked what I said. I said Mud –“

“WELL _I_ SAID SHUT UP!”

She was grinning now. “Oh, I forgot. Your father married one, didn’t he?”

Scott’s fingernails were digging into his palms. Every part of his body was shaking with fury. He could barely think, could barely stop himself from doing something stupid. He turned to Emile, who had remained remarkably quiet throughout the exchange. Distantly, the fact that he should have felt bad about dragging someone unwillingly into an argument occurred to him, but the thought was banished as soon as it formed.

“Emile, back me up. She can’t say that word. _She can’t_.”

“Which word? Oh! You mean Mu –“

“I SAID SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”

He looked back to Emile, who looked back at him. A second passed, another, and then another. Emile looked into his eyes and said; “Mudbloods ought to be put in their place.”

He was outnumbered now, but he didn’t care. Every inch of his body was ready to spring at them. His wand seemed to burn from inside his jacket pocket, eager to bring about righteous justice on a pair of bigots. He didn’t know any spells that would be particularly effective in a duel, but neither he nor his wand seemed to care. His hand twitched toward his wand at the exact moment Skeres did the same.

“Would anyone mind explaining what on Earth is going on here?” came a mild voice.

Scott and Skeres both had their wands trained on each other, but looked up at the sound of the voice. Whilst they were distracted, the door had slid open and a boy stood there. He was in his late teens, and by the blue badge emblazoned with a ‘P’, he seemed to be a school prefect.

“This boy tried to attack us,” came Pellon’s voice from behind him.

Scott didn’t refute this. He wasn’t sure he was capable of speech at the moment. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. He reached up and seized his trunk by the handle, pulling it from the rack roughly. He strode from the compartment, pushing past the prefect as he did so.

“Wait a moment, now!” the prefect called.

Scott spun on the spot. “Going to help the bigots as well, are you?” he said furiously.

He turned and started back up the corridor. He heard Skeres’ high-pitched laughter emanating from the compartment. The prefect had evidently decided not to follow him, and so he set about trying to find a familiar face, fuming all the while. Eventually, he managed to spot the person he’d been so desperate to find in a compartment two down from the back of the train. He sighed with relief and slid the door open.

“Scott! Where’ve you been, eh?” Ethan Croaker demanded.

Ethan was something of a scrawny boy, with curly reddish-brown hair, and a small smattering of freckles across his nose. But what was most apparent about Ethan Croaker were his glasses. His lens prescription was so extreme that it made his green eyes seem to bulge enormously.

“Sorry, Ethan. I got, er, held up.”

“Ah well, I had Alex here to hang out with,” he said, pointing at the other occupant of the compartment.

Scott did a double take when he saw the blond boy sitting opposite from Ethan. It had been a week since he’d since him, but he hadn’t forgotten the odd encounter in the slightest. The boy, who was apparently called Alex, was presently looking nervous at Scott’s curious gaze.

“Er, we’ve actually met before,” Scott said, half joking.

“Really?” Ethan said curiously. “When?”

“Never mind,” he said. Ordinarily, he would have launched about a million questions at this Alex, but the experience he’d just had further down the train had chased away any ambition of prying into a stranger’s business too much. Alex shot a grateful look at him as he pushed his trunk onto the luggage rack for the second time that day.

He turned back to the boy. “We didn’t really get properly introduced when we, er, met. I’m Scott Carter.”

“Alex Wroxton.”

“And I’m Ethan!”

“We know, you tosser,” Scott said, kicking him lightly in the shin. “So what’d you get up to on the holidays? I didn’t get to come over much.”

Ethan grinned toothily. “I’ve been up in the Hebrides. Dad’s close with the MacFusty Clan, so I’ve been watching dragons all summer.”

He said this with more than a little bit of excitement in his voice. Scott knew from Ethan’s bedroom that he was utterly obsessed with the creatures. From memory, Scott could recall just about every dragon type and their physical characteristics from the large diagrams of dragon anatomy that plastered his excitable friend’s wall.

“There’s actually been something I’ve been saving to tell you in person,” Scott said. This was true, as he had considered writing to his friend following the eventful day a week prior, but had decided that the written word couldn’t properly do it justice. Plus, he’d wanted to see Ethan’s reaction when he told him.

“Well, don’t hold me in suspense! What is it; you’ve discovered how to use your head to deflect Bludgers?”

He rolled his eyes. Ethan had never been particularly passionate about Quidditch, and never lost an opportunity to make fun of Scott’s favourite position in the game; that of the Beater.

“No, you idiot. I went to my family’s Gringotts vault last week when I got my stuff.”

He proceeded to spend the next twenty minutes relaying the intense game of riddles he’d had with Sanura to a rapt Ethan. Alex seemed to be interested in the discussion, too, and clapped when Scott finished explaining how he’d solved the sphinx’s mathematical puzzle.

“I just can’t believe you got to meet an actual sphinx!” Ethan said, his over-magnified eyes shining with jealousy.

Alex chose this moment to – somewhat timidly – speak; “Er, when we talk about dragons and sphinxes, we are talking about... well, the things from mythology, right?”

Scott and Ethan blinked owlishly at him for a moment, before Scott broke the silence. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea! I just assumed because... well, goes to show, doesn’t it? Doesn’t matter if you’re... anyway, don’t worry, we can fill you in on everything.”

Ethan nodded knowledgably. “First off, yes, dragons are real dragons. Same with sphinxes. And they’re incredible, really you should see –“

“Of course, you wouldn’t know about Quidditch, would you? I’m sure you’ll love it, everyone does. Or at least anyone with _sense_ –“

“- And then there’s manticores! They’re practically un-killable, _and_ _they are vicious_. But they do breed, very rarely, it’s actually rather fascinating how –“

“- The Keeper stops the other team from scoring, like a goalkeeper in football –“

“- part eagle, part horse, all parts majestic. And Thestrals –“

“- in Queer Ditch Marsh in 1050. But you can trace its influences even further back through history, like in Creaothceann, which was played by –“

“Anything from the trolley dears?”

The three of them looked up at the witch who was standing with a cart full of sweets. Alex looked slightly dazed after having his ear talked off, and so didn’t respond. Scott, however, jumped up at once.

“Excellent. If we’re doing this, we ought to do it properly. We’ll take some Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, three pumpkin pasties, and three chocolate frogs, please.”

After he had paid (he had shaken off both boys offers to pay), they set about eating the food they had shared between them. They passed the Every Flavour Beans between them, each testing a bean. Alex was just finishing describing a particularly sweet taste that Scott had ascribed ‘Butterbeer’ flavour when suddenly a piercing noise emanated from Ethan’s direction.

They each sat in silence for a moment, as though afraid to speak. Finally, Scott broke the awkward moment.

“Er, Ethan... Did you just...”

“Croak?” finished Alex.

The bespectacled boy looked at the two of them as though contemplating what to reply with. “Chocolate Frog, maybe?” he said unconvincingly as he held up the edible amphibian.

Scott suddenly had the impression that Alex wasn’t the only one hiding something. “You can admit it, you know. We won’t laugh too much.”

Before Ethan could respond, he was interrupted by yet another resounding croak. Suddenly, from inside the backpack that was leaning against Ethan, a creature emerged. It leapt out of the backpack and wrapped its long green tail around Ethan’s throat, where it hung. Then, in large webbed hands, it scooped up the Chocolate Frog he was holding and examined it.

They all watched the monster curiously. Alex’s mouth was hanging open, giving him a slight resemblance to the creature. It seemed to be a bizarre combination between a monkey and a frog. Its large gaping mouth was lined with countless needle-like teeth, and its head was crowned with two horns. Between the horns was an enormous red lump that made it look like somebody had come at the creature with a mallet. Its large eyes stared off in different directions. The confectionery it was holding to seemed to either pass or fail some inspection, as the beast’s longue tongue suddenly lashed out at the Chocolate Frog, drawing it back as quick as lightning.

“Ethan?” Scott asked faintly, “What is that?”

The creature seemed to have noticed him and Alex now. It was watching them as curiously as they watched it back.

“It’s my toad,” Ethan said, entirely straight-faced.

Scott looked at it. Alex looked at it. It looked at them.

“Strangest toad I’ve ever seen,” Alex murmured.

Suddenly its tongue flicked out again, landing squarely inside the open box of Every Flavour Beans. It brought back a clump of the sweets, chewing them noisily.

“Cyril!” Ethan scolded crossly. “That’s not very hygienic, you know!”

Alex looked entirely flabbergasted. Scott smiled at him as if to say: “Welcome to the Wizarding World.”

* * *

The hours crept by, and the sun sank past the horizon. When the boys changed into their Hogwarts uniforms as they fast approached the school, something peculiar was happening within Scott’s trunk, unbeknownst to him. The walkman Scott had packed in his early-morning haste was sputtering and smoking, hidden at the very bottom of the case. No light, but the sparks of the dying device, permeated the trunk as the walkman finally gave a long _fizzzz_ and then came to a stop, no more sound emanating from the device. It was dead.

Meanwhile, Scott stood up in his compartment, along with the other two who shared it. They left, heading for the platform at Hogsmeade Station, Scott none the wiser as to the fate of his enchanted present.


	5. Don't You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Old Hat Sings, Then Speaks its Truth. Together it Brings or Tears Apart Youth

**Don’t You**

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over ‘ere!” came a loud, booming voice.

Scott was the first to spot him – not that it was particularly difficult - visible by the bullseye lantern bobbing in the gloom. The man was at least ten feet tall, with a large tangled beard. He struck an imposing figure, almost bearing down on them, making even the tallest among them – Scott included – look positively miniscule in comparison.

The first years gathered around the man. “Name’s Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. I’ll be guidin’ yehs down ‘cross the lake to the castle, now.” He strode off up the platform, heading for a gap between two walls.

They sped up to follow in his wake, excitement and nervousness apparent in most faces. Scott made sure he didn’t end up anywhere close to either Pellon or Skeres as they strode past rocky outcrops and through tree thickets.

“You’ll catch yeh first sight o’ the castle in just a mo’!”

He was right. As they emerged from the trees, they were suddenly granted a view that made Scott’s heart leap with exhilaration. On a rocky hill opposite from them was an enormous structure, bedecked with numerous towers and turrets that stretched into the sky. Thousands of glowing windows lined multiple storeys, of which Scott could count at least seven. Between them and the castle was a large loch, and it was to its shore that they headed. Along the waterside were boats large enough to comfortably accommodate four each.

Hagrid took up a boat all on his own. Scott climbed into a boat with Ethan and Alex, as well as a girl with long dark hair.

“Katie Bell,” she introduced, smiling primarily at Scott.

“Scott Carter,” he replied, grinning crookedly.

She looked expectantly at the other two.

“I’m Alex,” the blond boy said warmly.

Ethan mumbled something.

“I’m sorry?” Katie asked.

“Ethan Croaker,” he said clearly, red faced.

As the boats sailed across the lake, propelled by magic, Scott looked back up at the castle. He’d seen pictures of it before, mostly in books, but for some reason they’d never truly conveyed the true majesty of the structure. He’d begged his parents, on more than one occasion, to allow him to come and visit the castle – to no avail. They’d always said that his first experience of Hogwarts should be his first year there, and now that he was here, he started to see where they had come from.

When they neared the rock wall of the castle hill, they heard Hagrid call:

“Watch yeh heads!”

The ivy that draped over the stone before them hid the opening over the water that their boats now sailed through. Beyond a watery tunnel was a cavern, where they each came to a stop at a stone embankment. After disembarking, they walked up a passageway that led onto the grassy lawn in the shadow of the castle. Hagrid led them up to a pair of magnificent oak doors, enormous in size. After knocking, the doors swung open, and there stood a severe looking witch. She was rather tall, and wore a pointed hat that made her yet taller.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she said to the enormous man, “I will take them from here.”

Scott guessed that this was Professor Minerva McGonagall. He’d heard her mentioned at home, and knew that she was Deputy Headmistress, as well as the Head of Gryffindor House. They followed her inside, where they found themselves in an enormous chamber, so large that Scott could only barely make out the dark ceiling above. Opposite them was a wide staircase of polished marble that evidently lead to the rest of the castle. To their right was yet another door, somewhat smaller than the one to the entrance hall. He could hear a tumult of voices from beyond, and assumed that was where the rest of the school had gathered whilst they waited for the first years to cross the lake.

McGonagall, however, showed them into a side chamber off the hall. They gathered within, awaiting whatever came next.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term feast will shortly begin, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you are to be sorted into your houses. The Sorting Ceremony is very important as, whilst you are attending Hogwarts, your house will act as something resembling a family during your time here. You will attend classes with your housemates, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house’s common room.

“The four houses are thus; Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff. Each has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards.”

Scott nodded at this. He had, of course, researched said history thoroughly.

“Whilst you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs and successes will earn your house points,” McGonagall continued, “whilst rulebreaking of any sort shall lose your house its points. At the year’s end, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will begin in a few minutes before the entire school. I suggest that you all smarten yourselves up before entering the Great Hall.”

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Ethan’s robes, which were bulging in odd places, and untidily creased.

“I shall return for you once we are ready. Please wait quietly.” She swept from the chamber.

Scott thought furiously to himself. Hogwarts; A History had mentioned about a thousand interesting facts about the school, but not once had it ever mentioned how exactly students were Sorted into houses. This fact had always frustrated him, but he had always assumed there would be a written test of some sort. This idea, however, didn’t exactly fit with the fact that the entire school would be watching. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine that such a large body of teenagers would be content watching fifty-odd eleven year olds fill out a quiz for an hour. What then, did the Ceremony actually entail?

“Any ideas about what we have to do?” Alex asked, trying not to sound nervous.

Both Scott and Ethan shook their heads. “If we have to fight a Nundu, I think I’ll see if I can grab a giraffe haunch from one of the house tables,” Ethan began babbling. “I’m not sure what I’ll do if there’s a Chimaera, but-“

“I’m not sure they provide giraffe haunches here, Ethan,” Scott said, thankful to chuckle at something. “My mum said they don’t have foreign-“

“What did Mummy say, Carter?”

It was Pellon, with Skeres beside him.

“None of your business, prat,” Scott snapped, firing up at once. “Though I imagine she said a lot more than yours did.”

Pellon blinked rapidly, as though struck. It seemed as though he had nothing to say in response, gazing blankly at him. Skeres, however, leapt to his defence at once.

“ _How dare you!_ Take it back, Carter!” she shrieked, whipping her wand out furiously.

The other first years they were crammed in the room with were all staring at the confrontation, now entirely distracted from their anxiety over the Sorting Ceremony. A few boys were watching eagerly, including a tall wiry haired youth.

“Don’t you stand on some moral high-ground, Skeres!” Scott said, his wand only a foot from hers, cramped together as they were. “What was it you said on the train?”

“Funny, I was under the impression I wasn’t allowed to say that word anymore!” Her face twisted into a vicious smile. “But if you insist: M-“

“McGonagall!” Alex hissed, his head emerging from where it had been poking through the doorway.

They quickly stowed their wands back in their robes as Professor McGonagall entered. “I do hope no one has been arguing? I would be most displeased if you embarrassed yourselves in front of the entire school.” She gazed balefully at them all. “No? Very well, follow me.”

Scott was too incensed to continue to feel nervous as the first years filtered out of the room and across the flagstones to the Great Hall. He could feel Skeres burning a hole in the side of his face with her eyes, but didn’t look at her. He knew full well that he’d completely overstepped when he’d made the comment about Pellon’s mother. He wasn’t sure if he could bear to look at him either, so settled for gazing at the stone floor. He tried to occupy his simultaneously guilty and furious mind with the make of the flooring, wondering if the flagged stone had always been a fixture of the castle, or if it had been added in the thirteenth century, when flagstone floors became more prevalent in –

He looked up when he realised they’d entered the Great Hall, his brain quickly finding another topic to distract itself from feeling any particularly violent emotions. The Hall was enormous, decorated with thousands of floating wax candles and lined with paintings of scenes and people. Four incredibly long tables occupied the Hall length-wise, whilst a fifth sat along the opposite end of the chamber, facing the many students who occupied the benches at the four tables. The school staff sat at the fifth table, including a silver-bearded figure that Scott immediately recognised as the eminent Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Scott looked upwards, past the beams from which coloured banners hung. Above were twinkling stars, and the pale moon. The cavernous room’s ceiling was enchanted, Scott knew, to mimic the sky outside the hall. It gave the impression that the Hall lacked a ceiling at all.

They were instructed to line up in front of the teacher’s table, facing the school body. Before them was a wooden stool, upon which sat a frayed wizard’s hat. It looked so battered and old that Scott wondered who on earth it could belong to, and why they had mistreated their headwear so badly. The entire Hall seemed to be gazing at the hat expectantly, as though awaiting it to do something.

They waited for a few more moments, before a hole suddenly opened just above the hat’s brim, and a voice issued out:

“Yet again I come to say

Welcome one, and welcome all

To another year at Hogwarts School

As autumn leaves begin to fall

The Sorting Hat has been tasked

With the placement of these young

Which House will they belong within,

Now they are aged ten-and-one?

Perhaps in brave Gryffindor

Donning their scarlet and gold?

With stubborn pride and chivalry,

This House is the one for the bold

Maybe can-do Hufflepuff

With the badger deep in soil

I think you’ll find these good chaps

To be down-to-earth and loyal

Or will they be in Slytherin,

The crafty and the cunning?

Those of clearest ambition

Know when best to start running!

Do you belong in Ravenclaw,

The House of wit and learning?

These creative kids are smart

And knowledge is their yearning!

But listen to me, prattling on

When I should give instruction!

Just pop me atop your head

And I’ll get to your induction!

With my brim over your crown

Your mind – it will be plain to me

I’ll put you where you belong

Don’t believe me? Wait and see!”

The Hall erupted into applause as the Sorting Hat finished its song, and Scott heard several audible sighs of relief from those near to him. Ethan looked slightly crestfallen, as though the prospect of taming a Nundu would have appealed to him far more. Scott was imagining what the Hat’s song might have sounded like with a backing track, a few synths, and perhaps some accompanying vocals. He was shaken out of his reverie by McGonagall’s crisp voice.

“When I call your name, sit down on the stool and place the Sorting Hat on your head,” she called. “Abercrombie, Ainslee!”

A girl dashed forward and jammed the hat over her head, which fell far past her eyes. Only a moment passed before –

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat shouted.

The far right table cheered as Abercrombie made her way over to them. The Hufflepuffs seemed pleased to already be accepting new members into their fold and Scott could see them merrily congratulating her as she sat down next to a girl with bright blue hair.

“Belby, Marcus!” McGonagall’s voice came again.

A thin, nervous looking boy made his way over to the stool and placed the hat on his head. A few moments later –

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat yelled this time.

“Bell, Katie!”

Katie sat down on the stool and after placing the Sorting Hat on her head –

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat roared, though not as loudly as left-most table. Scott could see a pair of identical redheads whistling loudly as Katie made her way over to them.

After Katie, ‘Bobbin, Melinda’ was sorted (“RAVENCLAW!”) and then ‘Carmichael, Edward’ (“RAVENCLAW!”). As the pudgy boy called Carmichael made his way over to the table beside Gryffindor’s, Scott suddenly felt a great upheaval somewhere in his navel. He knew he must be next, and sure enough, McGonagall spoke again:

“Carter, Scott!”

He stepped forward, sitting himself heavily on the stool. He took the hat in his hands and brought it down over his ears.

“Hmm... Curious,” the hat’s voice spoke in his ear. “Yes, a deep affection for your family, and of course, you want to make them proud. The way in which you apply yourself; the mark of a hard-worker, although perhaps something more? Yes, ambition, or potential of, at least. I can see why that wand chose you, what with the way your mind works. No, the Badger would not suit you, I can see. Determination, yes, but not always. Cunning, quick-thinking, witty. But here I see something that weighs on you.”

Scott resisted the urge to try to hide his thoughts, not that he would have had any clue how to do so.

“You see it as an enemy,” the hat continued. “A recklessness, a desire for justice. And boldness, oh yes.”

 _Don’t you put me in Gryffindor,_ he thought furiously.

“Don’t put you in Gryffindor? Why not? What could possibly prevent you from fitting in there?”

He considered it, he really did. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was railing against the hat placing him in Gryffindor so much. He supposed it was because the traits he found most frustrating about himself fit in so well there. He’d always been easy to rile up, and his experiences with Skeres proved that he was quick to jump to action when pushed. He didn’t like that. He’d always thought that logic should win in any confrontation, but he’d struggled to fight with words over physicality.

 _I want you to put me in Ravenclaw,_ he thought resolutely.

“Ravenclaw? I can see your reasons for wanting to be there. Your father-“

 _This isn’t about where my dad wants me to be_ , he thought, keeping his mind as calm as possible. He wasn’t going to let the hat prove its point.

“No?” the hat asked. It seemed to consider for a moment, before speaking again. “Well, then, you want to prove that I’m wrong? Do so, and then I shall make my decision.”

Scott thought to himself, though he knew the hat must be able to hear the whole thing. The hat likely believed itself an authority on these matters, and would require a great deal of evidence to be swayed. He considered his options. His results in primary school were impressive, but hardly evidence all on its own. He considered more...

 _I’m sure you’ve seen the sphinx in my head?_ he asked the hat.

“Indeed, I have.”

_Can you see my exact lines of thinking when I faced it?_

“Yes, you acted without properly considering. Hardly the actions of a Ravenclaw, I should think.”

_I mean during the riddles. Cool logic, and all that. How I reasoned its wordplay, how I solved the puzzle?_

“Yes, yes, very impressive,” the hat said, sounding amused. “But are certain that you’re not simply trying to be where your father wants you?”

 _Maybe that’s part of the reason_ , he thought, shrugging helplessly. _But I don’t hold anything Gryffindors value in high esteem. You said Ravenclaws value wit, and knowledge. And I like to think that I’m plenty creative_.

“You certainly have all the passion and idiosyncrasies I’d expect from the Eagle,” the hat said, sounding begrudging.

_So why not place me there? Come on, you’re taking some time, you know. You wouldn’t want a Hatstall so soon after the last one, would you? It was only nineteen years ago._

“Ha!” The hat’s laugh echoed around the chamber, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Well, that, more than anything convinces me,” it said, quieter again.

Scott crossed his fingers in his lap.

“RAVENCLAW!”

He swept the hat off his head, grinning. He made his way over to the clapping Ravenclaw table, sitting near to those who had already been sorted. He noticed the prefect from the train was proffering his hand, and Scott shook it as a sign of good faith.

“Robert Hilliard,” the boy said.

“Scott Carter,” he replied.

‘Chang, Cho’ hurried over to their table, the hat having just announced her as yet another Ravenclaw. The next to be Sorted was ‘Coote, Ritchie’, who found himself at the Gryffindor table after fifteen seconds of consideration from the hat.

Ethan came next, and unfortunately, the moment his name was read out, Cyril the ‘toad’ gave a momentous croak. He heard a few people snigger and mutter ‘Croaker’ under their breaths. Ethan, red-faced from embarrassment and desperately attempting to stuff Cyril’s webbed hands out of sight, sat down on the stool. The hat had barely brushed his head before it cried, “RAVENCLAW!”

He dashed over to sit next to Scott, though he nearly tripped over his untied shoelaces on the way there. Another series of sniggers greeted this fresh humiliation, and by the time Ethan had managed to sit at the Ravenclaw table, he closely resembled a tomato with glasses.

Scott looked over at the Slytherin table curiously, having noticed that no new students had been placed in their house yet. By the looks of things, this fact had not escaped their notice, either. They looked rather put-out at the hat at the moment, and a few kept glancing at the Ravenclaw table, which had already begun to fill up quite generously.

They didn’t wait too much longer, however, as ‘Derby, Jacob’ was eventually Sorted into their house. Derby strode over to the table of clapping individuals, as Scott heard hissing from the Gryffindor table behind him. He turned and saw the two redhead boys from earlier doing the heckling, while another boy who looked like he could be their brother swatted them on the arm.

‘Edgecombe, Marietta’ ended up in Ravenclaw, too, though ‘Elliot, Henry’ went to Hufflepuff. Then Ravenclaw received yet another member in the form of ‘Fawcett, Sophie’, and Hufflepuff got ‘Fawley, Saville’. Victoria Frobisher went to Gryffindor, and Jemma Green went to Slytherin.

“Haworth, Declan!”

Scott watched interestedly, recalling his meeting of the boy that he now watched walk across the shrinking line to the stool. He looked no less pale than he had at Madam Malkin’s, and had the same bored expression on his face. The hat took a few moments to decide where to put him before it shouted, “RAVENCLAW!”

Haworth opted to sit where he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone else, though Scott was burning with curiosity. Then, ‘Higgs, Terence’ went to Slytherin, and ‘Hooper, Geoffrey’ strode over to the Gryffindor table. A few more were sorted after this, though apparently no more to Ravenclaw. Scott wondered if they had all been exhausted early on, and now every other house was getting their turn.

After ‘Lynn, Trinity’ headed for the Slytherin table, and 'Midgen, Eloise' went to Hufflepuff, McGonagall called out another name, “McLaggen, Cormac!” The wiry haired boy that Scott had noticed earlier swaggered forward, sweeping the hat onto his head. It cried, “GRYFFINDOR!” almost immediately, and he made his way to the next table over from Scott.

A Graham Montague went to Slytherin next, and Leanne Moore to Gryffindor. The Sorting dragged on, and Scott became aware that he was feeling incredibly hungry. The pasty and sweets he’d eaten on the train were long forgotten by his stomach by this point, and he was beginning to wonder how much longer the ceremony would continue.

“Pellon, Emile!” McGonagall cried, and the small boy that Scott had so quickly come to fervently dislike stepped forward. The hat had barely touched his head when it, almost ferociously, had screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”

Scott found that he was about as surprised as when he’d been informed that Father Christmas was in fact not real. He, of course, had worked out the make-believability of the red-suited fat man far before, when he’d discovered a letter supposedly delivered by him written entirely in his mother’s handwriting.

Pellon smiled in a self-satisfied way as he went to sit at the Slytherin table. Scott didn’t have long enough to mull over his frustrations toward the boy when another name was announced by McGonagall.

“Skeres, Scarlett!”

Skeres, Scott was pleased to note, looked faintly anxious as she sat on the stool. The hat’s placement was not as instantaneous as Scott had thought it might be. In fact, it took a full minute for the hat to reach its decision, and Skeres had gripped the stool so tightly in the meantime that he had been sure it would have splintered from the pressure.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Relief was palpable on her face as she made her way over to her table, and Scott wondered briefly what had delayed the hat so much.

Only a handful of students were still waiting to be sorted now, and they eventually moved on from the ‘S’ initial after Sloper went to Gryffindor and Stebbins and Summers both went to Hufflepuff. After the T’s and U’s passed, they finally came to the last remaining student.

“Wroxton, Alexis!”

Alex placed the hat on his head, and there it remained for a solid three minutes. Scott’s stomach gave a desperate rumble before the hat eventually cried, “RAVENCLAW!”

Alex made his way over to sit opposite him and Ethan, a big grin on his face. They both clapped with the rest of the house, stopping only when McGonagall took away the hat and stool, and Professor Dumbledore stood up.

“Welcome, all!” he said. “Welcome to yet another year at Hogwarts. I’d like to say a few words before we begin our delightful feast, if you will permit me.”

Scott’s stomach gave yet another grumble, which he thought for sure could be heard from just about anywhere in the hall. He sighed, preparing for a blustering speech.

“Libration. Haversack. Doric. Kilimanjaro. Thank you!”

Scott laughed, and clapped with the rest of the school. Albus Dumbledore truly was as genius as everyone said. At that moment, the table before him was suddenly filled with mountains of food. His jaw dropped as he took in the sudden wave of scents and sights. He began piling chicken legs, peas, mashed potato, pumpkin, and lamb onto his plate, which was pure gold in colour. Meanwhile, the others at the table had begun to make small talk and introductions.

“Both my parents are non-magic,” Edward Carmichael was saying. “They were pretty impressed when they found out that it was magic I was doing all this time.”

“What about you, Belby?” Sophie Fawcett asked.

Belby had been in the process of swallowing a large clump of chicken at that moment, and suddenly began to choke in his haste to reply. The prefect called Robert pointed his wand swiftly at him and said, “Anapneo.”

Belby stopped choking at once, though his eyes were watery. “Thanks. My whole family are wizards,” he said, still wheezing slightly.

“And you, Croaker?”

Ethan looked startled at being addressed. “Er, my parents are wizards, but none of their parents ever were.”

“So what does that make you?” Cho Chang asked curiously.

Ethan shrugged, looking slightly unnerved at the attention he was getting. Scott decided to take pity on him. “My parents are wizards, too. Dad’s family are magical, though Mum’s the only one in hers.”

Marietta Edgecombe nodded knowledgably. “Yes, your father’s Head of the Department of Mysteries.”

Most of the group reacted to this piece of information. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Haworth glance up.

“Ooooh,” said Melinda Bobbin. “Do you know what goes on in there?”

“If I told you, then I’d have to kill you,” he said, grinning crookedly.

Her eyes went wide, and the others all laughed.

“Ethan’s dad works in the Department of Mysteries, too. And Mum’s Delegate to the ICW – International Confederation of Wizards,” he added, as Alex looked blank. “Means I end up overseas a lot.”

“My Mum runs a chain of apothecaries,” Bobbin said. “We’ve got one down Diagon Alley, in Hogsmeade, and Wiggen Lane. I think the Haworth’s have a shop, too?” She looked over at the pale boy, who had resolutely not participated in the conversation.

“Two shops,” was all he said.

When the conversation lulled after this, Carmichael asked, “So I’ve been wondering, how exactly is Quidditch played? I get that it’s on broomsticks and all, but what do you do up there?”

Scott and Chang both very eagerly spent the rest of dinner and then dessert explaining the minutiae of the game, including – at Carmichael’s prompting – much of the information regarding fowls and esoteric rules. As they were finishing attempting to recall what the 700th Quidditch fowl was, Dumbledore stood up again, and the food left on the tables vanished.

“Now, just a few more words now that you have been properly fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices for you.

“First, I would like to introduce you to our newest addition to our staff, Professor Michael Foley, who shall be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

At this, a tall man stood up and waved. He had unruly brown hair, and wore robes of dark purple, patterned with runes.

“Professor Foley will also be heading a series of excavations about the castle throughout the year, and I would ask that he and his team not be disturbed whilst they are working.

"Our second staff change this year will be the appointment of Professor Charity Burbage." A middle-aged woman stood up and waved. "Professor Burbage will be standing in as teacher of Muggle Studies whilst Quirinus Quirrell is away.

“I would also like to remind the student cohort, and inform first years, that the forest on the grounds is strictly forbidden to all pupils.

“Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you that magic is not permitted for use in the corridors between classes.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

“And now, I hope you are not too tuckered out to sing the Hogwarts School Song!” he finished much more excitedly. Scott noticed that the other teachers, excluding Professor Foley, looked for a moment somewhat exasperated.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and from its end emerged a long golden ribbon. It rose high above the tables and began twisting into the shapes of words.

“Everybody pick their favourite tune,” cried Dumbledore, “and now; begin!”

They all bellowed, discordantly and chaotically:

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they’re bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we’ve forgot

Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.”

Everyone finished the song at different times. Scott had decided to turn the song into a sort of hip-hop ballad, which had clashed terribly with the caterwauling that had come from Ethan. Alex’s rendition had actually been quite pleasant, though slightly ruined by the quick tempo of Edgecombe’s pop version. Haworth had muttered the lyrics quietly, though Scott could have sworn he’d heard some rhythm to the mumbling.

“Ah, music,” Dumbledore said, eyes teary from mirth. “Truly a magic that little can hope to match. Now, bedtime. Hop on, now!”

The Ravenclaw first years followed Hilliard through the throngs of students, out the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. He led them through secret passages concealed behind tapestries, and a sliding wall panel. They eventually found themselves on the sixth floor, by Scott’s reckoning. They walked through a door that led into a tower. Inside was a spiral staircase, which was a torturous climb, worn down by the feast and trip across the castle as they were.

At the top of the staircase they met a dark oaken door, but with no sign of a handle or keyhole. Instead, affixed to the centre was a bronze knocker shaped like an eagle. Hilliard rapped the knocker against the door, and at once the eagle’s beak opened. From it, a voice issued, soft, feminine, and melodic.

“A house with two occupants, sometimes one, rarely three. Break the walls, eat the boarders, then throw away me. What am I?”

“Hmm, what do you think?” Hilliard asked the group.

“Ask Scott, he’s great with riddles,” Ethan said. “He beat a sphinx!”

“A sphinx?!” Fawcett cried, looking awed.

“Why did you battle a sphinx?” asked Belby curiously.

“Er, family vault guardian,” he replied distractedly. He considered the question that the knocker had asked. ‘House’ couldn’t be literal, but what would that make the occupants? They must be a food of some sort, and his mind went to beans. He’d eaten peas at dinner, and the Every Flavour Beans from midday were still bouncing about in his mind. But you didn’t normally throw away the pod that peas came in, but –

“A peanut?”

“Very astute,” the eagle knocker said, and the door swung open.

Beyond was a massive, circular chamber. Graceful arched windows lined the walls, draped with silks of the Ravenclaw colours. The room was very tall, with bluebell flame sconces punctuating the upper sections of four stone pillars, between which was a domed ceiling painted with the image of the night sky. The stars winked mysteriously, and the moon that was situated at the dome’s nucleus shone like the real thing. The midnight blue carpet echoed the ceiling’s star patterns. Comfortable seats and couches sat by tables. Bookcases lined free portions of wall, or were otherwise occupied by portraits of famous wizarding scholars and figures.

A niche opposite the door held a tall statue, carved of polished marble. It was of a woman, who seemed to look at the group of first years with a quizzical half smile. She was utterly beautiful, yet they each felt slightly intimidated by her stare. There almost seemed to be some life in the figure, but she did not move an inch. Upon her head was a circlet that Scott knew to be a marble reproduction of Ravenclaw’s Lost Diadem. An inscription at her feet read: ‘Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure’.

Beside the carved statue was a door, and it was here that the prefect directed them to go through.

“You’ll find your dorms through there. A staircase will go to the boys’ dorms, while another will go to the girls’. It’s two to a room here in Ravenclaw, so pick someone you feel comfortable sharing a room with.”

Alex turned to Scott. “Would I be able to share with you?”

Scott glanced at Ethan. “Er, would you be okay if -?”

Ethan nodded. “I don’t mind, you’d probably try to get me into your early morning exercise routine if I was in with you.”

Scott was silently relieved. Ethan was the worst snorer he’d ever heard, and he couldn’t help pitying whoever it was who would share with him.

They wound their way up to the boys’ dorms, Scott making sure that he found Dorm 12. Once they were inside, their trunks suddenly appeared beside their beds.

“Neat,” Alex said. “And look,” he poked his head back out the door, “the plaque’s changed, too.”

So it had. The plaque that read number twelve now also had ‘Scott Carter’ and ‘Alexis Wroxton’ written underneath.

“I’m going to go check to see what the others’ have changed to,” he said, heading off up the spiral stairs, leaving Scott alone in his new dorm room. As he approached his trunk, preparing to unpack quickly, he heard a sound that stopped him short.

It seemed to be music of some sort, though it sounded far too close to be anyone’s Wizarding Wireless. He looked around the room for a moment before realising that the music was actually coming from his trunk. With a dawning sense of realisation, he listened to the song that emanated from the case.

_“Don’t you, forget about me_

_Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t.”_

He tore the trunk lid open, digging around wildly until he found what he was looking for.

_“Don’t you, forget about me.”_

He stared at the walkman that he was holding in his hands. He had no idea what it was doing in his trunk, or why it was now playing music. Most confusing of all, however, was that it was playing music from somewhere that didn’t seem to be the headphones that were still plugged into it.

_“As you walk on by_

_Will you call my name?_

_As you walk on by_

_Will you call my name?_

_When you walk away.”_


	6. Snape, Binns, and Foley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Class of 'Ninety, So Much to Learn. House Points Aplenty, If They Can Earn

**Snape, Binns, and Foley**

Scott awoke early the following morning, drawing back the blue curtains that hid the rest of his dorm. The room wasn’t particularly large, accommodating only two, and the shelves, dresser, beds, and two small desks gave little in the way of space. Still, it was cosy, and Scott appreciated it all the same. Ravenclaw dorms, he knew, had been two-a-room since the very founding of Hogwarts. Legends of the founders said that Rowena Ravenclaw had been particularly fierce about the exception, pointing out that cramming a group of scholarly minded eccentrics into a small space together for several years, and expecting them to be okay with it, was like asking a Niffler to forgo its search for treasure. In the end, they had settled for two to a room.

Scott scooped up his walkman, watching it curiously. He still hadn’t quite worked out what was going on with it. It seemed to be functioning a little too well, which unnerved him. He’d sent a letter the night before after finding the family owl at his window, asking his father about the oddity in vague terms. He’d read that magic pollution severely affected Muggle artefacts that used technology that wizards didn’t use. Radio waves, microwaves, and electricity were the primary victims, so it didn’t follow that his walkman seemed to be in perfect health. Stranger still was that he hadn’t been woken to any sort of alarm. Instead, the angelic voice of George Michael had emanated from the device in his hand.

_“Wake me up, before you go-go,_

_Don’t leave me hanging on like a yo-yo_

_Wake me up, before you go-go,_

_I don’t want to miss it when you hit that high.”_

The music that repeatedly emanated seemed all too apropos, and Scott considered whether the enchantment his mother had placed on it had anything to do with it. He changed into exercise tracksuit and left the dorm, his walkman clipped to his waist, and his headphones firmly lodged in his ears.

* * *

Meanwhile, many floors down, an eerie green light illuminated a small boy. The sun was beginning to rise, and its light had punctured the lakewater and into the first year Slytherin dorm that Emile Pellon sat at, gazing out the window at the endless murk beyond. It was his birthday, he knew, but that fact wasn’t very important to him.

Emile looked down at the photograph that he had clutched in his hand. A young boy and a pair of adults were prominent in the picture, but at present, Emile gazed at the small baby that was swaddled in a blanket, held in the woman’s arms. He looked with hatred and resentment at the infant, though in his heart he knew he was being entirely irrational.

One of his housemates grunted in his sleep, and Emile quickly stowed the photo into his robes. He continued to gaze out into the gloomy abyss the stretched out before him, and he could have sworn that he saw something move in the dark.

* * *

Scott gazed into the lake. He’d jogged a half-lap around its expanse when he’d noticed something on the surface. A mass of bubbles and ripples had disturbed the lake’s surface, near to the very centre. After a few moments of silence (even the walkman had stopped playing), a few stray tentacles rose eerily from the black sheen. A horrible sickly feeling rose in Scott’s stomach, and he quickly turned away from the disturbing sight, shuddering. He’d never liked deep water, partially for reasons that he’d just observed.

As though attempting to distract him, his walkman quickly started up a particularly energetic rock song, and he resumed his running, putting deep sea monsters far from his mind.

By the time that he’d finished, breakfast was being served in the Great Hall. He made his way back through the front doors and saw someone that he thought looked familiar walking down the marble staircase opposite. It was a pretty girl with blonde hair that he’d only spotted once before, and only for a few moments. He rushed forward to meet her.

“Alex?” he asked.

She flinched, having been focused on making her way quickly to the Great Hall. She looked at Scott, her eyes apprehensive, her face lined with anxiety. Scott had the impression that she’d come down for breakfast early to avoid the rush of people.

“You alright?” he queried, smiling at her.

“I... Yes. I’m fine,” she said, letting out a gust of breath, though it seemed as though she’d let go of more than air.

“Well, then, come on,” he said, indicating his head to the great Hall. “I’m starving.”

They ate their breakfast in companionable silence, though eventually Ethan came down. He glanced over Alex, not really noticing her, before looking at Scott’s clothing.

“Up at the crack of dawn for physical torture, as I suspected. You, my friend, need to see a shrink about that problem you’ve got,” he said archly, falling ungracefully onto the bench beside him.

“Who’d you end up dorming with, then?” Scott asked curiously.

“Haworth,” he said simply.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Really? How was he?”

“Well, I didn’t really ask-“

He rolled his eyes. “No, you tosser. I mean; what was he like?”

“Quiet. I don’t know if he slept much.”

Scott didn’t doubt it, considering Ethan’s window-rattling snores. He watched as his bespectacled friend scooped up a stack of bacon, eggs, and sausages, and promptly stuffed it down the front of his robes. A grateful chirp and the sound of noisy munching greeted this action. Edgecombe glanced over at the noise, looking revolted.

Scott grinned. “Cyril doing alright?”

Whatever Ethan was about to reply with was cut off as about a hundred owls swooped into the Great Hall. He recognised one of them, a handsome eagle owl, which swooped down and landed in front of him.

“Hey Merlin,” he said to the family owl. He took the envelope that was affixed to his leg and opened it.

_Scott,_

_Congratulations on getting Ravenclaw, your mother and I are extremely proud. I obviously knew you’d be there, no doubt Prefect and Head Boy in time, too! Sorry about not being able to see you off yesterday, but we’ve been going through some major breakthroughs at work. I’ll say no more, though._

_Your sister has also attached a letter with this one. She woke up before the crack of dawn to write a response to the one you sent last night, though she’s gone back to sleep for now. Your mother’s already headed off for work, though she sends her love._

_I don’t know whether Ethan will have let his parents know where he got Sorted yet, but I’ll make sure to mention it to Saul today. As for your question about Muggle technology, I can’t say with certainty what the results of magical interference with Enchanted or otherwise Altered Muggle Artefacts would be, but depending on the spells used, side-effects such as Limited Vibe Telepathy, Magical Inconstancy, or even Sapience could theoretically manifest. I hope this helps solve your conundrum._

_Hope you’re fitting in nicely with everyone else, and say hi to Professor Flitwick for me._

_Love from_

_Dad (and Mum)_

He thought on the theories that his dad had put forth. They seemed to make sense to some extent, and last night had proven that intelligent objects weren’t too uncommon a phenomena. He’d had a debate with a hat, been posed a riddle by a door knocker. He’d passed countless portraits that chatted idly with their neighbours, or with passing students. And what had Ollivander said about wands?

_“Some wands are particularly more aware than others. A wand must feel if it is to choose a wizard to whom it bonds.”_

He’d described Scott’s wand as being especially sentient, though he wondered what he’d think of the charmed walkman’s level of sentience. Was his wand even more aware than the device still hooked to his waist?

Casting his considerations aside for the moment, he picked up the second letter, which was written in a slightly messier scrawl.

_Scott,_

_Well done on the sorting! You didn’t say how you actually got sorted, but you must have forgotten. Make sure to say in your next letter (tonight!)._

_You also didn’t say if there was any pretty girls. I’m sure you’ll tell me in your next letter. I won’t show it to Mum or Dad or anyone (maybe Demelza)._

_Have you made any friends there? You’ve got Croaker, but you had a bunch of friends at primary school so I’m sure you’ve got some already. Also can you tell me how classes go!_

_I’m starting school today too but I wish I was learning magic. I hate maths!_

_Love from_

_Lindy_

_P.S: REMEMBER TO WRITE TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!!_

_P.P.S: You’re allowed to keep Merlin until tonight. I think he misses you too._

Smiling, Scott folded the letter up and put it in his pocket. He looked up at Merlin. “You can stay in my room today, boy.” He looked at Ethan and Alex. “I’m going to run Merlin up to Ravenclaw Tower and get changed. Could someone get my timetable for me while I’m gone?”

Ethan looked up from the baked beans-laden plate he was shovelling food from, swallowing thickly. “Sure. While you’re up there, make sure to give Alex a kick. He’ll miss breakfast if he’s not quick!”

Scott looked at him as though he were stupid. “You unobservant wank-“

He was suddenly interrupted by a sharp kick to his shin. He looked up at Alex, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head imperceptibly.

“Er, yeah, I’ll see if he’s there?” Scott said, recovering rather poorly.

Ethan seemed none the wiser, and went back to eating, apparently clueless as to the identity of the girl sitting opposite him. Scott let Merlin hop onto his arm, and promptly stood and exited the Great Hall, passing the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables along the way. Sensing a stare, he glanced over and found the dark eyes of Skeres boring into him. He ignored her malice-filled gaze and continued on out of the Hall, up the marble staircase, and up to where the common room was.

When he eventually returned, dressed in full uniform, he found Ethan waiting for him in the Entrance Hall. He handed Scott a small sheet of paper.

“Double Potions is first today. That’s with Professor Snape down in the dungeons.”

They glanced over to where they’d seen Slytherins descend and emerge from, an opening beside the marble staircase. Scott looked down at the timetable he’d been handed and saw that the class was shared, most unfortunately, with Slytherin House.

“Shit,” Scott muttered.

“What’s between you and the Slytherins, anyway? I forgot to ask last night.”

They set off for the Potions classroom. Scott thought about the question. “I dunno about the rest of the house, but at least two of them are rotten. I met them on the train, before I found you.”

They walked down the dingy stone corridor, counting the numbers over doors as they passed, trying to find the correct chamber.

“What’d they do?”

“Kept saying... well, the M Word.”

“Ah,” Ethan said grimly. They’d found the correct classroom at last, and stepped inside.

The classroom was dark, and had an oppressive, gloomy feel to it. Desks sat arranged about the room, and cauldrons were already out.

“You are late. A point from Ravenclaw each.”

The voice was drawling and snide. Scott could see a man with lank, dark hair standing off from a desk, near to a blackboard. This must be Professor Snape. The weight of the man’s words seemed to set in for Scott, and he suddenly realised that he’d already lost Ravenclaw points on his very first day. Anger and guilt surged through him uncomfortably as Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps I should have been clearer,” he said. “Sit down, or I will take yet more points.”

They rushed to do so, moving over to where the Ravenclaws were seated. He could see Skeres shaking, no doubt attempting to repress that distinctive shriek of laughter. When they reached the Ravenclaw side, however, they found that there were no free spaces to sit. Alex had found herself next to Haworth, Carmichael by Belby, Bobbin by Fawcett, and Chang by Edgecombe. Scott considered dragging over a table from the Slytherin side, but decided against it.

“Dear, dear. And they say Ravenclaws are known for their intelligence,” Snape said softly. He was having far too much fun. “The two of you, sit over there,” he said sharply, pointing at, to Scott’s dread, a desk beside Skeres and Pellon. They shuffled awkwardly over and sat, Scott putting himself between Skeres and Ethan defensively. She looked somewhat displeased to be finding herself seated beside him, however, though this only cheered him up marginally.

“I presume you two dunderheads are Carter and Croaker?” Snape asked in a bored voice, to which they replied with muttered ‘yes, sir’s. When he’d ticked their names on the register, he looked back up at the class. “Very well. Now that we are no longer being disrupted, we may continue with the lesson. I warn you that in this class you will find that there is little foolish wand-waving involved. You shall rely on your wits, your ability to memorise, and your attention to detail.

“I can teach you how to capture the very essence of victory in a flask, or distil the most potent poison. You may learn how to titillate with a tincture, to store violence in a vial, to extend life with an elixir. At least, some of you might. Others...” He left the sentence hanging, giving a nasty glance in Scott and Ethan’s direction.

They spent the next thirty minutes going over proper brewing safety and etiquette, ending with Snape launching a rapid-fire questionnaire at the class.

“Urquhart, what do you do if your gloves begin melting?”

“Er, remove them carefully and make sure you use a new pair, sir?”

“Belby, your cauldron fire has spat sparks onto your robes, what will you do?”

“Wh-what!? Where?”

“A point from Ravenclaw, Belby! You use the emergency extinguisher, or else have someone more competent do it for you!”

After the class was properly prepared, they were set the task of brewing a demonstration potion whilst following the precise instructions laid out in their textbooks and on the blackboard. There was one small setback, however.

“Croaker, Carter. I can hardly trust you to find your seats, let alone your potion ingredients. Croaker, partner with Pellon. Carter, with Skeres.”

Scott and Skeres turned to look at each other, horrorstruck.

“Quickly, now! Your Cure for Boils won’t brew itself.”

When they had settled at a table on their own, and Ethan next to Pellon at another, Scott went about angrily dumping the needed ingredients from his potion kit onto the desk.

“Careful with the horned slugs, Carter,” Skeres muttered edgily.

“I _am_ being careful,” he said through gritted teeth.

“No you’re not; you’re blundering around like an idiot.”

_“I do not blunder!”_

“Those porcupine quills would disagree,” she said, smirking at the bent spikes he’d been crushing in his anger.

He swore softly. “Give us yours then,” he said, pointing at her potion kit.

“Give up my perfectly nice, non-crushed quills? No thanks, I’d rather not have a big clumsy idiot ruin them, if you please.”

He decided to ignore her taunt this time. If this continued, it would draw Snape’s attention, and in the forty minutes that he’d known the man, he didn’t expect him to take his side.

He breathed in, then out. He tried again. “Skeres, if you use your quills today, I’ll give you the knuts to get some new ones.”

This seemed to pique her interest. “Surprisingly shrewd, Carter,” she said, smirking slightly. “Fine, I’ll be holding you to that.”

They continued to brew their potion together, only occasionally making digs at each other from that point. When it came time to add the crushed snake fangs:

“Try not to burn yourself, Carter.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” he replied simperingly.

And when it came time to remove the cauldron from the fire and add the quills:

“Sure you can reach, Skeres?”

“I don’t need to reach high to spill this somewhere you really don’t want it spilled, Carter.”

Occasionally, Scott would make checks on Ethan and how he was faring with Pellon. They seemed to be working in relative silence, which Scott thought boded well. Ethan’s potion was looking rather impressive, as a matter of fact, far closer to the vibrant azure sheen described on the board than the dark blue liquid bubbling in his own cauldron.

Eventually, Snape called for an end to their brewing. “You should each have concocted an adequate Cure for Boils by now. Shall we see how you actually fared?”

He passed by the Ravenclaws, making only an occasional snide comment. The Slytherins had apparently performed quite well, at least by Snape’s reckoning. He commended Ethan and Pellon’s potion, and then finally came to Scott and Skeres’.

“Dark blue? Tut, tut, Carter, dragging down Ms Skeres with your incompetence.”

Scott felt incensed by the comment, but didn’t dare reply with backtalk. Skeres didn’t laugh, luckily, though that was likely because she felt humiliated by her failure.

After they had filed out of the classroom, they went off to their morning break. For some reason, Alex didn’t join them, though Scott saw her chatting with Bobbin and Fawcett as they made their way to the front doors of the Entrance Hall.

“Well, Snape’s not the nicest man, is he?” Ethan said, glancing nervously at the four enormous hourglasses that lined the wall where the front doors stood. There were only a few dozen in each glass, but Ravenclaw seemed to have just as many as Hufflepuff, in equal last.

“That’s an understatement,” Scott muttered. “What’s next?”

“I think History of Magic. I’m just going to let Cyril out for a bit, and then we can go find the classroom. I don’t want to be late again.”

They entertained themselves by watching the frog-monkey climb a beech tree by the lake, though Scott ended up having to intervene when it caught sight of a bird’s nest.

“Oh come on, its nature taking its course!” Ethan cried.

“Oh it’s taking a course, alright!” Scott said, as he hung precariously from a tree branch several feet in the air. “Three courses, with some eggs on the side!”

He eventually managed to drag the creature down from the tree, depositing it into Ethan’s waiting arms. They set off then, heading for the History of Magic classroom, which was on the first floor. The subject was the one that Scott thought he might have been most excited for. He’d read several books on Magical History before, and visited some ancient ruins around Yorkshire, but he knew that there was still plenty more to learn about the subject.

“So why didn’t Alex show up for class, today?” Ethan cut into Scott’s musings.

“Oh, er...” he stuttered. He would have told Ethan then and there what was actually going on, but Alex had seemingly taken a stand against it at breakfast. “Well, he was a bit sick. I think he ate a little too much at the feast last night.”

Ethan seemed to readily accept this excuse. “I know, right? I felt like I was going to explode, to be honest.”

They managed to find the correct classroom just as the bell chimed over the school. They walked inside and took seats. When the rest of the class, which included the Hufflepuffs, had all sat down, they waited patiently for the teacher to arrive.

After about a minute of idle chatter between the students, they suddenly heard a piercing scream. Edgecombe was pointing at the blackboard where a transparent figure had just emerged. Ghosts were hardly a rare occurrence at Hogwarts, they’d been at the feast the night before after all, though seeing one emerge in class was somewhat unexpected.

“Settle down, please,” the ghost said, hovering over to the teacher’s desk and sitting down.

He looked somewhat like an ancient anthropomorphic tortoise with spectacles. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the shriek of surprise that had greeted his entrance, and quickly proceeded to set about marking the roll. His voice was wheezy and seemed to drone on. He had barely reached the end of the attendance register and already half the class seemed utterly bored. Once he had finished, he looked up.

“My name is Professor Binns. I will be teaching you History of Magic here at Hogwarts for as long as you end up taking the subject. Please ensure that your inkwells are full and your quills ready. Today I shall be lecturing you on the Uprising of Emeric the Evil. Emeric the Evil was a noted Dark Wizard who terrorised...”

Binns spoke in a voice that scarcely changed in tone or volume. He placed not an ounce of emphasis on any particular event, date, or name. The subject matter, of course, was utterly fascinating to Scott. He’d already read up on Emeric’s reign of terror in the late twelfth century, and how he’d enslaved an armada of Common Welsh Green dragons through the use of Dark Magic. Unfortunately, Scott’s classmates seemed to not find the subject nearly as engaging as he did. Binns’ tones (or _tone_ , for a plurality would be false) induced a torpor in the class that had managed to drive a few of his classmates to a light doze.

Whilst Scott was uniquely capable of diligently maintaining total concentration, that wasn’t to say no one else tried. A few Hufflepuffs, whenever their heads started nodding, quickly started, and wrote down whatever sentence they’d partially heard Binns wheeze out. To the Ravenclaws’ credit, they were faring better than the Hufflepuffs, but the sheer tranquilising aura that Binns gave off could not keep them engaged for long.

When they eventually left the classroom, a few of Scott’s classmates began to mutter amongst themselves. “Bunch of tripe, frankly,” said a boy he thought was called Stebbins. “Don’t know why we learn it.”

Scott felt like arguing, but realised that it would be no use. There was no way he could convince someone that the class environment they’d just emerged from was conducive to any sort of learning. Scott already practically knew most of the information that Binns had spoken at them, and so they shuffled off to his next period, thoroughly disheartened.

Next, they had a session on Diction and Essaycraft that stepped them through how to write assignments, and use satisfactory wording in the work. They were informed that this class wouldn’t be examined at the end of the year after the attendance register was taken. A little middle-aged witch hosted this lesson, and they were thoroughly tired by the time lunch began forty-five minutes later.

“So what’s up next?” Scott asked Ethan, loading up on watermelon and grapes.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” he replied, sipping from a goblet of water.

In the absence of the intrigue that he’d expected from History of Magic, Scott’s next hope lay in Defence class. When they eventually set off for the classroom, located on the third floor, they merged with the Gryffindors that were headed in the same direction.

“Hey,” Katie Bell said to him, smiling.

“How’s it going so far?” Scott replied, answering her smile with one of his own.

“Pretty good, we had Transfiguration and Herbology this morning. McGonagall’s strict but knows her stuff, and Sprout’s friendly. You?”

“We had Snape first thing. Not much fun there. And History of Magic wasn’t what I’d hoped it’d be.”

“Ah well,” she said sympathetically. “Hopefully Professor Foley’s a bit better, eh?”

They reached their destination at the exact same moment that their teacher arrived. “Come on in, then!” he said, gesturing for them to follow as he entered the classroom first. When they’d sat at a desk each, Foley turned to face them, still standing. He watched them all with a smile on his face, his messy hair hanging about his eyes.

“I won’t take the roll today. I can see you’re all already here. Now, in case it’s managed to slip your mind, the name’s Professor Michael Foley. Professor Dumbledore’s hired me for the year while I do some work around the castle. I’m a researcher, you see. An archaeologist,” he said.

Scott sat up straighter in his chair, gazing at the man, suddenly several times more interested than he had been.

“Can anyone tell me what an archaeologist is, precisely?” Foley asked. Scott launched his arm into the air, but someone else beat him there. “Yes, and your name is?”

“McClaggen,” said the wiry haired boy from the previous night, a Glaswegian accent apparent. “Is that like a Curse-Breaker?”

Foley watched McLaggen impassively for a moment, apparently considering something. “I can forgive you for construing the two; however I must insist that you know the difference. Curse-Breakers are primarily occupied with the destruction and deactivation of magic considered dangerous. They are often utilised in the, er...” he seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, “ _acquiring_ of ancient valuables to hand off to prospective customers. My occupation, however, is the scientific and scholarly analysis of history through the signs that were left behind, normally by accident.

“However, much like a Curse-Breaker, I have had more than my fair share of dangerous encounters. Ancient wizards had a tendency to leave behind volatile magic in their wake, sometimes on purpose, other times through negligence. And it is this experience that allows me to teach you what I know, so that you can be prepared for a world of potential dangers. I tell you this not to scare you, but to ready you.

“Expecto Patronum!” he cried, brandishing his wand suddenly. They all jumped as something enormous burst from his wand, something bright silver and four-legged. Scott had the impression that he had summoned a horse, but upon closer inspection he saw that it looked practically skeletal, and enormous bat-like wings unfolded from its body. The great emaciated horse-thing took flight, pushing itself up into the air above the desks. It soared across the classroom, over their heads, its gleaming body illuminating them strangely. Ethan gave a great shriek of excitement as it glided past. It came to a stop beside Professor Foley, cantering slightly as it landed. He reached out a hand, as though he were about to stroke its mane, but it dissipated into silvery vapour as he touched it.

“A Patronus,” he said to the awed class. “That was a demonstration of one of the most complex spells for defending against the Dark Arts, powerful enough to banish foul creatures like Dementors.” The class seemed to ripple with shudders at the mention of the dark creatures. “But the Patronus Charm is still a far off prospect for any of you. I believe you haven’t been instructed on Magical Theory yet?”

They shook their heads.

“No matter. Today we’ll begin discussing Dark creatures. If you could open your copies of ‘The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection’ to page twelve, we can begin work on studying the zombie. Now, the zombie can be...”

Their lesson continued on for another forty minutes, the end of which had seen great success for Scott. He thought he’d suitably impressed Professor Foley when he’d correctly answered what the difference between the intelligence levels of certain varieties of undead, and even demonstrated extensive knowledge of inferi, a subject matter well beyond the first year. Foley had also given points for Scott’s apt question on Haitian religious rituals, which he had eagerly answered in depth.

Scott lagged behind after the bell signalled the end of the class, preparing to speak with Foley. He wanted to know what the work he was doing around the castle was, but before he could approach, Ethan called from the door.

“C’mon Scott! We’ve got Magic Theory!”

Scott held his finger up for silence. “Hold on a moment, Ethan, I’ve just got to-“

“I don’t want to be late for another class today!”

Scott sighed as he turned to head back out. A group of second years began entering the room, and he found himself having to push past them in order to get out. He collided with a red-haired boy who snarled, “Watch it, firstie!”

Dodging around the boy’s twin brother, he left the room with mixed bag of feelings. On one hand, he’d managed to regain the points lost that morning, but now he wasn’t sure how long it’d be until he managed to talk to Foley again. He desperately wanted to learn what the man was doing, but didn’t know what time was best to do it. He looked up to see Alex hurrying off with the other girls at the end of the corridor, and his emotional state landed on miserable. She’d seemingly avoided him and Ethan all day and it was starting to concern him. He resolved to question her later that night before they went to bed.


	7. Taking to the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dichotomous and Confused, They Try to Explain. Leave it Too Late, And Suffer the Pain

**Taking to the Air**

Dinner ended pleasantly enough for the pair of boys, though it had been interspersed with glances by Scott in the direction of Alex, who was sitting with the girls. Ethan, in his infinite obliviousness, never seemed to notice Scott’s concern, seemingly much more focused on making sure that Cyril got a good feed.

“I’m sure Alex is bound to be hungry,” Ethan said, carrying a few napkinfuls of assorted meats back up to the common room. Alex had already left for the common room some time beforehand. “I mean he hasn’t eaten anything all day!”

They entered the common room after the solving the eagle knocker’s riddle, the answer to which; “A light.” Scott then took the food Ethan had brought, offering to bring it up to Alex himself. He ascended the stairs, and pushed open the dorm door.

“Wha- Oh, it’s you,” she mumbled nervously at Scott as he entered. She was sitting on her bed

Scott looked down at the napkins stuffed with food. “Er, Ethan thought you might be hungry,” he said jokingly. “He’s currently under the impression you’re up here sick from last night’s feast.”

Alex sighed. “I’ve made a right mess of this,” she said miserably. To Scott’s horror she began to tear up. “I’m sorry I avoided you today, but I just... I didn’t know how to go about-“

“It’s fine,” Scott said hastily, sitting awkwardly beside her. “Really, I was just worried. Would you... Do you want to talk about it? Properly?”

She wiped her eyes, smiling weakly. “I guess I owe you that.” She seemed to be deep in thought for a while. “I guess I should start from the beginning. For... Well, since forever I’ve not really been... just one thing. That’s sort of putting it lightly, of course. When I was born my parents were a bit scared, because they were worried what would happen if word got out that I... could change what I was. They were sure that the government would take me away, or some scientists would want to do experiments on me, or something.

“They didn’t know what was happening was magic. That is until Professor Flitwick showed up at the door one day. He said that I was a witch, er, and a wizard. He also said that I was a Metamorphmagus. A Metamorphmagus is-“

“Someone who can change their appearance, yeah,” Scott cut in. “I never read about any who changed their genders like you do though.”

“Well, I guess you wouldn’t have. Professor Flitwick didn’t seem to think it was that common, either. I’m not sure I completely understand it either. But all I know is I’ve always done... this.”

Scott nodded. “So, why’ve you been hiding from me and Ethan all day? I already knew, sort of, and the girls seemed to know, too.”

Alex looked incredibly guilty. “The girls found out this morning during Potions, during attendance,” she told him, evidently avoiding the question he’d asked. “They asked me a few questions and thought they’d keep me company for the day.”

“Good on them,” Scott grinned. “They were completely fine with you?”

She looked slightly uncomfortable at this. “Well, I don’t know about Marietta. It sort of seemed like she was reserving judgement the whole day.”

Scott waited a moment to see if she’d bring the conversation back to his original question, but she didn’t seem to want to bring it back up. He took the initiative.

“But that doesn’t really explain why you’ve been keeping it from Ethan?”

Alex looked at him with a mixture of tearfulness and exasperation. “Doesn’t it?” she asked, clearly frustrated. “I guess you can’t really understand.”

Scott wanted to tell her that she was wrong, and that he did understand. It was almost a primal instinct to prove he knew exactly what was going on at all times. He knew she was right though, so he asked her.

“Could you help me to understand?”

She sat on this question for a while. Eventually, she began speaking again. “For my whole life I’ve been hidden. My parents were worried, and I was too, that if anyone found out about me, as in _me,_ that it might spell disaster. I spoke with other children in my neighbourhood sometimes, but I didn’t really have friends. I didn’t go to school, my parents taught me from home. But then I sat in a compartment yesterday.”

She looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. “You and Ethan were perfectly nice to me. You were great. I was a bit overwhelmed, but you did your best.”

Scott looked slightly abashed. “Well, I mean-“

She shushed him, smiling, though then her face dropped again. “But you two didn’t really understand. And I didn’t know how to tell you. You had some idea, but that was an accident. I’ve never told a single soul about... well, the truth. Not willingly, at least.”

Scott could hardly imagine. The powerlessness of having the truth dragged from you at every turn, being unsure who would understand, or who would even bother to try. He tried to imagine the assumptions one could make about someone like his friend, though the ideas he came up with made him irrationally angry.

“But,” Scott began, “this could be your chance to tell someone who has no idea! Ethan’s an idiot; those glasses aren’t just for show. He’s about as observant as a Horklump, though with the knowledge of a Centaur. He could probably give you a full anatomical break-down of both creatures, too.” He smiled fondly at the thought. “He wouldn’t know till you told him, you could finally have a say!”

Alex seemed to digest this for a moment, before saying: “I’m worried about how he’d react.”

“What?” Scott said, chuckling. “It’d be par for the course for Ethan. He’s seen weirder, believe me. He’s told me all about how-“

“He was one of the first to treat me as a friend. It’d completely change how he thought about me if I told him.”

Scott thought for a moment, unsure. Ethan – unlike himself - had operated under the idea, from the very beginning, that Alex was purely male. He had no reason to consider otherwise from what he’d noticed. Ethan had always had the unfortunate habit of being entirely incapable of speaking to girls. He acted in odd ways, stuttered violently, and even hid when they tried to talk to him. When they had been younger, Ethan had fled in fear every time Lindsay had entered the room when he was staying over. Would Ethan react well to what Alex had to tell him?

“Well...” Scott said uncertainly. “I still think you should tell him anyway. I wasn’t serious when I said he’d never find out - he’s bound to realise what’s going on eventually. Surely it’d be better to come from you?”

She nodded forlornly. Scott, slightly unsure, wrapped his arms around her for a hug. Alex leaned into it, sighing deeply. He had the vague thought that he was giving far more hugs lately than he was used to.

Eventually, he pulled his arms away. “Well, I’d better get to writing a letter to my sister. She’ll have my mum send a Howler if I don’t get it to her quick enough.”

He stood, walked over to the dresser, and lifted the owl perched on its edge. As he left the dorm, heading back for the common room, he thought he saw a faint smile on Alex’s face as she lay down on her bed.

The following week was very interesting for the first year cohort. Their Transfiguration classes had become something of a favourite for Scott, who found the fine details of the subject incredibly fascinating. Professor McGonagall, their teacher, was quick to award him points for his detailed understandings of spell definitions and models. Meanwhile, Charms proved to be a great success for Scott as well. Professor Flitwick had lauded how quickly he’d managed to produce showers and blasts of sparks in numerous vibrant colours.

Ethan, it seemed, seemed to struggle in Fliwick’s classes. He’d read, and then reread the theory behind the spells they studied, but he never seemed to produce the results he hoped for. He didn’t struggle nearly as much in their Astronomy class, which was held at midnight on Tuesdays. They were ushered to the tallest tower by their house prefects, and proceeded to study the stars and planets through their enchanted telescopes.

Herbology was an interesting experience, and Ethan seemed to take to this subject more than Scott did, though Scott wasn’t very far behind. Something Ethan did absolutely decimate Scott in was their Potions classes. Professor Snape had decided that their partners from their first lesson were to be their partners for the rest of the year. This news had brought Scott and Scarlett Skeres no small amount of consternation, and the class had become almost a sort of torture for them both. They attempted to entertain themselves by seeing how loudly they could threaten each other without Snape hearing either of them. Meanwhile, Ethan and Pellon upstaged the entire class from beside them.

History of Magic was still the depressing slog that it had been in their first lesson, and Scott’s discontent only grew as the class minutes wore on. He recalled what his Hufflepuff classmate, Stebbins, had said: “Bunch of tripe, really. Don’t know why we learn it,” and couldn’t help but see his point.

Scott was by far the best at Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he liked to imagine that Professor Foley considered him his favourite student. He still hadn’t managed to speak to him alone; as whenever he wasn’t teaching a class, he was apparently considerably busy with his archaeological surveys of the castle.

On the Sunday exactly a week after they had arrived at school, as notice appeared on the board in their common room.

First Years are scheduled to attend Flying Lessons

Instructor: Madam Rolanda Hooch

Beginning on: Wednesday 11th September, 3:30pm

Beyond Quidditch Pitch; Beside Lake

RAVENCLAW HOUSE will attend with SLYTHERIN HOUSE

“Brilliant,” Scott said furiously. “Another class I was looking forward to ruined by those two bastards.”

Ethan hadn’t been looking forward to Flying Lessons beforehand, but now he was excited for the classes even less. “Ugh,” he muttered, “I’m going to go feed Cyril. See you two at dinner.”

He left Scott and Alex, who was a boy today, heading through the door beside the statue of Ravenclaw. Scott turned to Alex.

“So, Flying Lessons, huh?” Alex said, stalling. “Should be interesting, I’ve never flown on a broomstick before.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Alex said nothing for a moment, looking nervous. Scott put his hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“I’ve forgotten to,” Alex said. “Honestly!” he insisted when Scott raised an eyebrow.

Scott found the excuse surprisingly compelling. Alex had the unfortunate habit of forgetting important things until it was too late. Scott suspected procrastination mixed with a distracted mind had something to do with his predicament. He knew for a fact that the first pieces of homework that they’d been assigned were sitting, forgotten and unfinished, in Alex’s schoolbag.

“I hate to put pressure on you, mate, but I don’t think I can distract him during roll call for much longer. You’re lucky he only really talks to us, otherwise he might’ve noticed days ago.”

“I- I’ll try tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll be like this,” he gestured to himself, “or not, but I think you’re right.”

“Course I’m right,” Scott said impressively.

* * *

Ethan woke to a wet sensation in his ear. Suddenly, something large withdrew itself from his ear canal, and he looked up to find Cyril in his face.

“Gross. What time is it?”

The clabbert simply looked at him. Not _actually_ at him, of course, but if his eyes faced forward then he would be.

“Six o’clock? Are you serious!? What, do you want me to go with Scott on his daily death march?”

Cyril blinked one eye, then the other.

“Oh, you’re hungry. Earwax not good enough for you anymore?”

The clabbert croaked.

“Alright, fine. I think I saw a spider or two around the Tower.”

He pulled the blue curtains of his four-poster bed aside. Cyril climbed onto him, wrapping his tail around Ethan’s neck. He glanced over at Declan Haworth’s bed. The curtains were drawn, though he couldn’t hear any sign that the boy lay asleep behind them. Shrugging, he stood and made his way out of the dorm and down the stairs, shoving his glasses onto his face.

He was headed for the bathroom that he shared with Scott, Alex and Haworth, where the night before he’d spotted an enormous, hairy, eight-legged beast. He’d been disappointed when he’d realised that it wasn’t a baby Acromantula, though had contemplated breeding it regardless. Now, though, it was destined for greater things, namely, acting as the breakfast for one needy clabbert.

He twisted the handle on the bathroom door, but then suddenly stopped. The sound of the shower emanated from within, and he was about to tell Cyril he’d have to wait, when he reconsidered. No reasonable human being would be awake and showering at such an ungodly hour, which could only mean Scott was within. An evil plan began forming in Ethan’s twisted mind, and he gave Cyril a grin that he returned with his needle-teeth.

He quietly pushed the door open, and crept into the bathroom. The shower curtain was drawn, and behind it, no doubt, was Scott, cooling off after a healthy session of masochism. He looked into the corner by the toilet door. The spider was lurking on the sink mirror, no doubt busy admiring its marvellous form in the reflection. At least, that was what Ethan was doing. Maybe the spider was just sitting there being a spider.

Cyril squirmed, and Ethan managed to catch the tongue the moment it lashed out, stopping it before it could make quick work of the arachnid. He sneaked toward the spider, his hand out. He eventually managed to coax it off the mirror and onto his palm, though it was quite a small platform for such a magnificent beast. He had to discourage it from crawling up his pyjama sleeve as he made his way over to the shower.

Before Scott could have the possibility of realising that he was there, Ethan grabbed the curtain and wrenched it open. But before he could complete his excellent prank, he gave an ear-piercing shriek that could have woken the entire castle. The girl he’d discovered in the shower could have competed, however, as she launched herself backwards at the sight of him. In his blind panic, Ethan launched the spider in his hand randomly, and Cyril’s large red pustule flashed crimson in fear as he scrambled down his owner’s leg.

Ethan backed away, stammering. “Who are- I’m so- What?” Losing his head completely, he made a mad dash for the door. Unfortunately, Cyril seemed to have been thinking along the same lines, and both owner and creature found themselves crashing to the floor after colliding.

“Ethan!?” the blonde girl in the shower cried.

“Waaaagghhh!” was Ethan’s only response.

The girl launched herself at the towel on the bathroom floor, swiftly wrapping it around herself. It was too late for Ethan, however. The things he had seen...

“Oh for... And today of all days! God, he was right, wasn’t he?” the girl was yelling, looking entirely inconsolable.

Ethan was nursing his smarting body parts from the fall. Cyril was currently cowering inside the toilet, the top of his red pustule brightly visible over the rim of the bowl.

“Ethan, it’s me, Alex!” the girl said to Ethan. “Alex Wroxton! Now, I know you’re confused, but there’s a really good explanation that I didn’t give you before now!”

Ethan was crawling backwards away from the girl, who - in addition to being a girl, naked, and speaking to him - was also claiming to be one of his best friends. Surreal didn’t even begin to explain it. If he hadn’t been experiencing excruciating pains in his arms and legs he might have been able to convince himself that he was having a particularly vivid nightmare.

“I’m a m-metamorphmagus, Ethan. And I’m not just a boy. I’m s-sorry I didn’t tell you before now.”

“P-Prove it,” Ethan spluttered out, eyes wide. “Metamorph into your normal body.”

She seemed entirely miserable; she was actually holding back sobs. “This _is_ my normal b-body, half the time. And I can’t m-make myself transform.”

“W-Why are you in this bathroom if you’re a girl?” Ethan said, not really listening through his terror.

“Because this is _m-my_ bathroom!”

“No, this is a boys’ bathroom!” he shouted, and he tore Cyril out of the toilet bowl and sped out of the room, not daring to look back.

* * *

Alex slid down against the wall, shaking with sobs. Why had he been in here? _Why hadn’t she remembered to lock the door?_

“Stupid, stupid!” she said, smacking her head.

Her worst fear had been realised, and in that moment, in that chilly bathroom, she could only think of herself to blame.

A spider drifted down from the ceiling and landed on her head.

* * *

Scott knew something was wrong immediately when he returned from his morning run. As he entered his dorm the very mood seemed to change, and his walkman seemed to sense it.

_“‘Cause nothing compares_

_Nothing compares to you_

_It’s been so lonely without you here_

_Like a bird without a song”_

He looked over at Alex’s bed, the curtains of which were tightly closed. Taking his headphones out, he couldn’t hear the telltale deep or soft breathing that he’d grown used to hearing over the last week. Thinking this to be especially ominous, he spoke quietly.

“Hey Alex?”

There was no answer. Scott battled with himself on whether to keep bothering them, or to simply go back down to breakfast. The breakfast argument won and he tucked tail and left.

The day was especially miserable for Scott. Ethan hadn’t shown for breakfast either, which was most unlike him. Potions class saw his friend return, though he didn’t give any sign of recognition. He seemed practically glassy-eyed as he mechanically brewed his Forgetfulness Potion. Skeres seemed to notice Scott’s less than happy demeanour.

“What’s the matter, Carter?” she muttered slyly. “Unhappy about the Wasps’ performance on Friday?”

“Yep,” Scott said shortly.

Skeres blinked. Scott knew that she had expected a returning jibe, some sarcastic comment or witticism. She almost looked disconcerted for a moment, before her usual sneer was back in place.

“Not feeling talkative today, then?” she drawled. “If not the abysmal Keeping skills of Jacob Killian, what then could possibly have made you more one-dimensional than usual?”

“I’d rather not today, Skeres.”

“Seriously, Carter,” she said, temporarily dropping all pretence. “What’s got your wand in a knot?”

“You know, oddly enough, I _don’t_ feel like sharing every single little detail about my life with someone I vehemently despise, Skeres.”

She smirked. “Now that’s much better.”

He rolled his eyes at her.

Things didn’t improve from that morning. By the time lunch arrived, Scott cornered Ethan in the Entrance Hall.

“Oi, what’s going on? What did you and Alex-“

“Did you know?”

Scott blinked. “Did I know?”

“That he- she- I don’t-“

Scott narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I knew. If this is how you’re going to act though, I regret telling Alex to tell you.”

“I saw... in the shower...” he said hoarsely.

Scott felt like he was missing something. “What are you talking about, exactly?”

He told him. Scott didn’t know how exactly to react to what he’d learned, so settled for; “Oh.”

“Yeah; oh,” Ethan said, his eye twitching. “So, what in Merlin’s name are we going to do, huh?”

Scott looked at him confusedly. “What do you mean?”

Ethan looked at him as though he were dense. “We’ve got to tell someone, surely! I mean I think they ought to know-“

 _“What the bloody hell are you talking about you complete moron?”_ Scott raged, almost apoplectic.

“Well, think! Someone else could walk in, or she could-“

“You realise that everybody already knows, right?” Scott said through gritted teeth. “Yeah, it’s just you who didn’t; the village idiot who’s about as insightful as a sodden rag!”

And he stormed off, leaving a dumbstruck Ethan behind him.

Scott spent the next couple of days mostly alone, and he knew that both Alex and Ethan were doing the same. He’d tried to speak with Alex more than once, but they’d quickly sped off, or pretended to be asleep every time that he’d tried. He didn’t get the impression that Alex was mad with him, more ashamed and humiliated than anything else. Ethan, meanwhile, occupied himself entirely with his schoolwork and his pet frog-monkey. They weren’t speaking, and he could tell that Ethan was stewing at the perceived injustice of it all.

Eventually, their first Flying class arrived. The Ravenclaw and Slytherin first years gathered on the flat stretch of grass where Madam Hooch had gathered them. She seemed quite a serious woman, with cropped grey hair and piercing yellow eyes.

“Come now, stand by a broom with your wand hand over the shaft,” she ordered when they had all amassed on the field. “That’s it. Now, broomsticks are enchanted to respond to your commands. These are typically non-verbal, but for the sake of today’s lesson, we’ll speak the commands aloud. When I blow my whistle, I want you all to command your broomsticks to fly into your hands like so: Up!” The broomstick that she’d positioned herself beside launched itself into her outstretched hand. “Right, everybody got that? Alright then, on the blow of the whistle.” She blew.

At once, the assembled students broke out into choruses of “Up!” with varying results. Several broomsticks instantly found their way into the waiting arms of their respective commanders, whilst others were less fortunate. Ethan’s broom reacted quite strongly to his commands, flinging itself up with a _thwack_ onto his head. Scott had to restrain himself from laughing, fearing that it would be taken the wrong way considering how things were between them. This didn’t prevent Skeres, whose broom had been among the first to respond successfully, from picking up the slack. Her distinctive cackle left Ethan redder in the face than the fresh welt the broom had left behind. Alex, Scott was pleased to note, had been surprisingly successful with his broom, which was now gripped firmly by the blond who was today a boy.

When they had all managed to get their brooms to behave, Madam Hooch began speaking again. “Excellent. Now, I want you to all to place your broomsticks between your legs in the pre-flight position. I’ll come through and correct your grips individually for this step.”

Several students had already managed to enact a decent grip, among which included Scott, Skeres, Cho, and a Slytherin boy, Montague. Hooch gave each of them pointers, and then they moved on to the next step, which was to actually leave the ground. A few of the students looked somewhat nervous at this, mostly those who hadn’t flown, or as in Ethan’s case, weren’t particularly comfortable on a broom.

They each bent their knees as instructed, and pushed off the ground when Hooch blew her whistle. Ethan wobbled precariously, but managed to stay upright. Scott was faring far better, balancing quite well on the narrow old strip of wood. Skeres was making quite the show in attempting to one-up him, lazily hovering by. He noticed that Pellon was quite awkwardly perched on his broomstick, disappointingly though, he seemed to wobble far less than Ethan.

“Alright,” Madam Hooch said, hovering beside the airborne group. “We’ll begin with simple exercises that will test your ease with a broom, and separate you into three groups based on your capabilities. First, I want you to fly in a straight line, nice and simple to start off. If you could all line up along here...”

The tests were as simple as had been advertised, though they were effective at demonstrating their skill levels. After a few minutes, the three groups had been separated. Hooch gave each group their own space to do further exercises, and was at present focusing on the Beginners Group, which included Ethan, Edgecombe, Carmichael, and Belby, as well as a two Slytherins. The Intermediate Group had the largest group by far, among which were Pellon and Haworth. The smallest group was the Experienced fliers, which consisted of Scott, Skeres, Montague, Cho, and to Scott’s utter delight, Alex.

He grinned at him, to which he returned with a wobbly smile. Skeres was most displeased at this development. “Careful not to weigh your broom down, Carter. I’m not sure they were designed for your build,” she said viciously.

Montague, the hypocrite, snorted at this jibe. The boy was about as large as Scott, and had the signs of being quite hairy for his age. It seemed Skeres was considered quite the comedian in her own house.

“Oh shut up, Skeres.”

The response hadn’t come from Scott, and they all turned with some surprise to look at Alex. Scott raised his eyebrows at him, to which he only responded with a smile, stronger than his last.

“Come on, we need to do our exercises,” Chang said diplomatically, and before either of the Slytherins could bite back with a comment, the three Ravenclaws set to work. They executed a series of short dives and turns, with the Slytherin pair trailing along behind them. Scott felt fantastic all of a sudden. It had been far too long since his last broomstick ride, where he’d raced Lindsay over the Yorkshire Moors. He glanced over at Alex.

He was grinning. His face looked alive, radiant with joy, as though he’d never been as happy, as they went speeding through air, Highland wind wildly blowing their hair about.


	8. Positive Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History is Vital, We'd Do Well to Remember. When Society Cares Not, It Needs a Defender

**Positive Thoughts**

Scott lounged in his chair, his feet resting on his desk. He had no workbook open, no parchment for note-taking, no quill or ink for writing. His chair was balancing precariously on its two back legs, and in his ears were a pair of headphones. Scott couldn’t hear a word of what Professor Binns was saying, though he had no doubt that it was interesting. Another thing that he had not a shred of doubt in regards to was that anything that Binns said, he already knew. The Hogwarts library had become a frequent haunt for Scott since his disillusionment with his teacher’s ability to teach, and he could say with surety that the veritable metropolis of shelves was his favourite location in the castle. He’d learned more there than any in his class had ever learned from the droning ghost before them.

Against his better judgement, he glanced to either side of himself. To his right sat Ethan, who, in between feeding Cyril some odorous substance from a baby bottle, was throwing occasional awkward glances at Alex. Alex was to Scott’s left side, and was resolutely not looking anywhere near Ethan. She’d been more talkative since they’d begun their Flying Lessons, and had confided her side of events to him, amidst many tears.

“You were right, God, I should have said something sooner. I could have prevented all of this from happening,” she’d cried, her face buried in his chest.

He’d comforted her. “I think he’s just had a bit of a shock. I’ll make him see sense, don’t worry.”

And to his credit, he’d managed to make Ethan come around to the concept far more than he had been originally. He still seemed slightly shell-shocked from his early morning run-in, but had expressed the desire to apologise more than once. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t sure on everything.

“It’s just... Half the time he- er- they?” he’d asked, looking to Scott for confirmation.

“You’ll have to ask Alex yourself,” he’d answered unhelpfully.

“Well, half the time, he’s a she, and good for him- her- them? But I... Girls are...”

“Merlin’s beard, Ethan, you’re eleven!” Scott implored him desperately. “Can’t you grow up a little?”

“How am I supposed to grow up if I’m having _that_ shoved in my face?”

“Alex didn’t make you look at her in the shower, mate!” Scott had yelled, frustrated.

Now, leaning back in his chair, listening to something far more engaging than dead old men, he just wished that the two of his friends could come to an understanding. He hated playing the mediator, and as much as he took a perverse pleasure from hearing “You were right” directed at him repeatedly, he just wished the two of them could be a sight more happy.

Eventually he realised that class was coming to an end. This was perhaps the only part of the lesson that he could benefit from hearing, so he took his headphones out and listened.

“The essay will need to be twelve inches long, and precisely summarise the conditions that allowed Emeric to garner the support that he gained in modern-day Devon. I expect references and quotations from A History of Magic, and any other texts you decide to consult. The worksheets with instructions are up here for you to collect. That concludes our lesson.”

With perfect timing, the bell chimed to signal the end of class, and they each dispassionately filed up to the front, collected the parchment, and filtered out.

Scott realised that Ethan and Alex were still beside him and realised his chance. “Ah, bugger,” he said with convincing dismay. “I’ve got to run to the loo, tell Professor Flitwick I’m sorry, will you?” And he dashed off, leaving the two of them alone in the corridor.

* * *

Alex scowled at Scott’s retreating back, while Ethan continued to shoot nervous looks at her. She saw him open his mouth a few times as they walked up to their Charms classroom, but he seemed to struggle to find the right words. Eventually, she became so fed up with his failed attempts at whatever it was he was trying to do that she spoke, though he seemed to find his courage at the same time.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” they said in perfect unison.

Ethan immediately shook his head frantically. “You haven’t got anything to be sorry for.”

“Don’t be an idiot, of course I-“

“You’re right, I’ve been an idiot,” he interrupted. “I got scared, I freaked out, and I was wrong. I just don’t think that I was prepared for... Well, that, I suppose.”

Alex stopped walking, and so did Ethan. She looked at him properly. He still seemed uncomfortably anxious around her. “Ethan, I really wanted to tell you. I was going to do it that day,” she said earnestly, fighting the urge to tear up. “Everyone else already knew, but I didn’t really care what they thought, not as much as I was worried about you. I wanted you to know the real me, but I was scared because I thought I might have given you the wrong idea.”

It was Ethan’s turn to look anywhere but her. His face showed his shame as he shuffled his feet awkwardly. “And I reacted... like that,” he mumbled quietly.

Alex sighed. “Not either of our finest moments, really,” she joked pathetically.

Ethan laughed weakly.

She stuck her hand out. “Friends?” she asked hopefully.

Ethan stared at the hand as though he’d never seen anything like it before. “I... You want to...? When I...?” he stuttered.

“If you’re okay with it,” she said, with an intake of breath. “With me.”

Ethan nodded, and after a moment of confused hesitation, he took her hand with his long, gangly arm and shook it.

She breathed out, and they turned and continued on to their classroom.

* * *

Scott returned as Professor Flitwick finished calling for attendance.

“Sorry, Professor, had to use the necessary,” he called, shrugging at the diminutive man as he strode in.

“Not to worry, Mr Carter, not to worry,” Flitwick said fondly. “Just find your seat, and I’ll fix the register up for you.”

He sat beside Alex, who he was smugly pleased to see was seated next to Ethan.

“And how was your toilet break?” she whispered facetiously to Scott. He said nothing, simply smirked at the two of them, and turned to listen to Flitwick.

“Now, over the past month we have been studying our spell theories relating to the manifestation of light. We began with the usage of multicoloured sparks, which you should all be adept at by now. Last week, however, we focused primarily on the creation of a singular bright light at the tip of your wands. Would anyone like to tell me the primary difference between the theory behind sparks and the theory behind wand-lighting?”

Scott punched the air.

“Mr Carter?”

“It all lies in the concentration put into the radiance, sir,” Scott explained, his voice clear and certain. “The caster’s focus is vital so that the light is concentrated for as long as the caster requires. Sparks, meanwhile, are ephemeral, and overlap with Fire-Making spells, where intention is placed more into heat, over concentrated physical light.”

“Excellent, three points to Ravenclaw!” Flitwick said jovially. “Indeed, Mr Carter touches on what separates our current focus from the relatively simpler sparks we produced previously – that being where the magic is focused into. With that concept in mind, perhaps we could attempt a trial run of the incantation?” He drew his wand from his robes.

“The wand movement for this spell is simple - a slight flick of your wand; your upper arm need not move. And then, Lumos!”

Flitwick’s wand-tip was suddenly illuminated by a white light. “I will now dim the room to better test your efforts. You may find it easier to summon light in darkness. Can anyone – ah, of course. Mr Carter?”

“It’s partly psychological. But the magic also responds better when it can achieve its purpose – illuminating. ‘If darkness assails, light prevails’.”

He nodded. “Very good. Another three points for Ravenclaw, I think.”

They set about trying to summon light from their wands. Within a single minute, Scott had produced a glorious light that had lasted a further twelve. This earned yet more points for his house. Alex eventually managed it, though she seemed to get stuck on the concentration aspect repeatedly. Ethan was struggling most of all, far more than any of the Gryffindors, than even Jack Sloper, whose wand kept slipping from his hand. Partway through the lesson, Ethan had managed to call up a light so chaotic that it flashed repeatedly and with luminescence to rival the sun. Scott was reminded of Muggle strobe lights as he rubbed his eyes, the power of Ethan’s miscasting nearly burning his retinas.

“Sorry!” Ethan cried, after he had hastily shouted the counter-spell Flitwick had desperately called out (“Nox! Nox, Croaker!”).

The rest of the day passed without incident, though Ethan was still smarting over his failure to evoke the Wand-Lighting Charm. Scott and Alex tried to give him words of encouragement, to little effect. After dinner, they set to work on their homework, though Ethan didn’t seem eager to practice charms with them. They eventually went to bed, full of mixed emotions.

The following morning was Defence class, a double period in which they practiced a minor defensive spell that would theoretically force someone back a few feet. Professor Foley had matched the class up with partners at random, and Scott now found himself facing Cormac McLaggen, wand drawn.

“Flipendo!” he cried, brandishing his wand at the boy, whose height was equal to his own. With surprising nimbleness, McLaggen dodged out of the spell’s path, where it dissipated harmlessly against the wall. McLaggen answered the attack with one of his own, and Scott was less fortunate than his opponent had been. He stumbled as the spell shoved him into a desk, but remained standing. McClaggen laughed and, incensed, Scott quickly cast once again. The large Gryffindor, distracted, was caught unawares by the jinx, and, with a little more force than necessary, was cast into the wall behind him.

The rest of the class looked up at the commotion as McLaggen climbed to his feet, his face resembling an overgrown beetroot.

“My bad,” Scott said innocently.

“Mr Carter,” Foley called. “Could I see you in my office after class, please?”

Scott opened his mouth to protest but decided that back-talking a teacher wasn’t wise. He nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” Foley said. McLaggen looked smug. “Now, I think you’ve all made significant progress on the Knockback Jinx so far. But now I want you to return the desks to their original positions, so that we can get to the study of the spell’s applications in a defensive situation.”

After forty minutes of further work the class began to leave for their morning break. Scott waited for Professor Foley to finish packing, and dutifully followed him out. Foley’s office seemed to be on the same floor as their classroom, as they passed the stairs on their way there. Once they had arrived, Foley gestured for Scott to enter. “In,” he said, before following him inside and closing the door.

The office was decently sized and well lit. A few glass cases and cabinets lined the walls, which held numerous musty objects, curious metal instruments, and books. Scott waited for whatever punishment or lecture that Foley had in mind, but nothing of the sort came. Instead, Foley turned and smiled. “First of all, I’d like to award Ravenclaw five points. That jinx you pulled off was the best I’ve seen from the first year cohort so far.”

Scott blinked confusedly for a moment, before remarking silently to himself that being the teacher’s pet really did come with quite a few perks. “Thank you, sir,” he said politely.

“Sit down, why don’t you?” Foley offered mildly. When Scott had done so, sitting on the chair opposite his teacher’s desk chair, Foley continued. “Now, I seem to be under the impression that you’ve been trying to speak with me for a while now?”

Scott nodded. “Yes, sir. I was hoping we could talk about your job. Er, your other job, that is.”

Professor Foley looked pleased by his curiosity. “You’re interested in archaeology?” he questioned, grinning. “Always a pleasure to introduce new faces to the field. Anything in particular that you want to know?”

“Well, first off, what are you excavating here at Hogwarts? Is it something the founders might have left, or is there a passage off from the dungeons?”

Foley seemed to see that he was burning with his desire for knowledge. “Yes, I’m sure you’ve been quite desperate to know what my team and I have been so busy with. So far, we’ve only been surveying the area. We haven’t found anything new for certain, or truly begun excavations. We may not find anything at all.

“Extensive searches of the castle for ancient secrets have been conducted for hundreds of years now. Plenty has been discovered and lost in that time. I’m not certain what I hope to find in my study. Perhaps, as you considered, the founders may yet have left behind things that no living eye has seen in a millennium. I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard of Salazar Slytherin’s legendary Chamber of Secrets?”

Scott nodded. “I’ve read that Slytherin built it to hold a creature that he’d use to purge people he considered inferior. But isn’t it only a legend, sir?”

“Of course. We have no concrete evidence that such a chamber ever existed. However, I do have compelling evidence that something once stood where Hogwarts stands now, predating it by some time indeed.”

“Really?” Scott asked excitedly. “What’s the evidence?”

Foley drew his wand from his pocket and pointed it at one of the glass cases in the room. It unlatched and opened, and from within a stone basin rose and hovered over onto the desk between them. “I wonder,” Foley queried, “whether you might recognise this object?”

Scott examined the basin without touching it, fearing delicateness. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like one of the outrageously expensive objects that he’d seen in a store in Wiggen Lane, in Upper Flagley. “That’s a... pen- a pensieve?” he asked uncertainly.

“Indeed. Pensieves are useful tools for the siphoning and reading of memories. They have been used for millennia by witches and wizards to review their life experiences, and even to preserve them long after they have passed. It was once the case that particularly powerful wizards were once buried with their pensieves and hundreds of stored memories.

“Now, have you noticed the distinctive markings around the pensieve’s rim?”

Scott examined the artefact closer, looking at the distinctive runes etched into the ancient stone. “Futhorc!” he cried excitedly. “But... don’t wizards still use these runes today?”

Foley nodded. “Yes, they became quite popular again among the magical community around the thirteenth century. But when Hogwarts was first constructed, the usage of these particular runes had lessened in popularity. Latinised alphabetisation had become the norm, and, of course, remains as such to this day. But dating this artefact, I can safely say that it has existed in this form for well over a millennium, since at least the eighth century.”

But something didn’t quite track for Scott. “I’m not sure I follow, though. This region would have been under the control of either the Dál Riatans or the Picts around then. Why would a definitively non-Celtic piece of writing have anything to do with the Scottish Highlands?”

Foley seemed even more jubilant that Scott had offered this conundrum. “Ah, that’s where things get even more interesting! This artefact was uncovered by the school’s founders themselves, during the construction of the castle foundations and what would become the dungeons – subterranean storerooms would have seemed quite novel at the time, I’m sure.”

“This pensieve was excavated by the founders themselves? I’ve never read anything of the sort before!” Scott pondered.

“I have it on good authority that this basin was discovered right here in the late tenth century,” his teacher stated confidently.

“Whose?”

“Why, the very same person who provided me this fascinating artefact in the first place!” Foley revealed. “The Headmaster of the school!”

Again Foley’s wand flicked, and yet another glass case opened. From this one came an ancient manuscript, levitating dutifully over to softly land on the desk. Foley carefully used his wand to sift through pages until he came upon the passage that he was searching for.

“Lùnastal Dimàirt, lorg neònach de ionad cuimhne. Dè na aosmhor a bha a ’fuireach an seo?” he read. “Simply put, this pensieve was discovered early on, to the astonishment of the workers and founders. I’m sure that they too were befuddled at the Anglo-Saxon lettering that they found so far north. Perhaps it was claimed in a war against Northumbria? I cannot be sure.”

“But if pensieves were left behind as literal memorials, surely there should be preserved memories stored alongside the pensieve?” Scott asked hopefully.

“Alas,” Foley lamented softly, “if any were discovered, they are now long lost to history. And therein lies the tragedy of my work. You see, Scott, most of our world does not view these things as worthy of preservation, except out of a desire for prestige. Our own currency can attest to that fact.” He finished this statement with a note of bitterness.

“Our currency?” Scott questioned. “What do you mean?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Scott, but did you ever wonder where Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts came from? Or how wizarding goldsmiths were able to create and distribute so many Golden Snitches worldwide, when each of them is only single-use?”

“I-“ Scott began, but couldn’t finish. How _did_ these resources come about? He hadn’t heard of any wizarding goldmines, or of any miners. Transfiguration was out of the question – precious metals fell under the Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Besides, if money could be conjured or otherwise transfigured, poverty wouldn’t exactly be as prevalent as it was. “Maybe... maybe they use a Philosopher’s Stone?” he offered desperately, not wanting to accept the implication that Professor Foley had created in his mind.

“Alchemy has had its uses, certainly, but Philosopher’s Stones are coveted objects, and unbelievably rare,” Foley said, crushing Scott’s hopes. “No, I’m afraid wizarding currency has a far more terrible source that many don’t quite realise. What do you think happens to the relics that Curse-Breakers pilfer in their mass raids?”

Scott suddenly felt quite ill. He wildly dug into his pocket, tearing out a handful of bronze coins. He’d been planning to give them to Skeres after morning break – she’d been pestering him to pay her back for her porcupine quills. Now, though, the thought of handing over what could have once been a priceless piece of history – now reduced to a shallow symbol of currency – made him want to be violently sick. He felt his eye twitch as he stared without really seeing at the falsely innocent tender sitting in his palm. In his mind’s eye, he recalled a carved gold urn held in the hands of a Gringotts employee. He wondered how many Galleons it had become. He wondered if he’d ever see those Galleons.

Defilement. Sacrilege. Blood money, that’s what it was. He resolved then and there to never pay for another thing ever again in his life. He’d simply have to steal what he needed from now on. He simply couldn’t live with the concept of trading in the remains of history. No doubt he’d get arrested at some point. _And wouldn’t that be typical,_ he thought. _I’m going mad in Azkaban while Ministry-sanctioned Tomb Robbers are getting filthy rich!_

He was abruptly torn from his unhinged trance by the sound of bells. He looked back up to see Foley watching him, concern etched on his face. He realised that he must have looked quite the sight gazing at Knuts for several minutes.

“Er, you’d best be off to your next class, Scott,” he said, smiling sympathetically. Scott knew that he must understand. “What do you have? I might be able to make sure you don’t get into trouble for being late?”

“Er, that’s okay, professor. I’ve got Potions, and I don’t think Snape will care what you have to say.”

“Too right,” he chuckled. “I was always abysmal at Potions. I hope you fare better than I did in school.”

By the time that he’d reached the dungeons, he was only a minute late, but this was still enough time for Snape to deduct a point from Ravenclaw. He didn’t really care at this point, however, and found his seat next to Skeres.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Carter,” she whispered snidely to him. “Is that why you’re late, had to change your pants?”

“I saw dozens of ghosts, Skeres. Maybe you’ve not noticed, but the castle’s lousy with them,” he muttered back. “But, no, I was late because I’d rather spend time with a miserable spirit than another minute with you.”

“If you’re all they get to talk to, I can see why they’d be miserable,” she cooed, blinking sweetly at him. She leaned in. “So, have you got my money?”

“Why, Daddy not sending his little princess all the cash she wants?” He wasn’t going to give her the money now, not after what he’d just learned.

She ignored his taunt. “I hate to have to shake down filthy Half-bloods like yourself, but you did make a deal, Carter. I expect you to fulfil your end of the bargain.”

“And I expect you to die alone and friendless, Skeres. I sure hope we both get what we want.”

She had just opened her mouth furiously, apparently losing her patience for jabs, when an angry voice rang out in the dingy classroom.

“Shall we all sit and wait for Carter and Skeres to finish their discussion?” Snape said, swooping over like an overgrown bat. “Clearly whatever they have to say is far more important than what I have to teach you all.”

“No, sir,” Skeres said.

“Quiet,” he snapped. He loomed over Scott menacingly, looking down his beak-like nose at him. “How extraordinarily dimwitted you are, Carter. How you managed to dupe the Sorting Hat into placing you into Ravenclaw, I have yet to understand. Your talent for disrupting my class has just earned you a detention. Congratulations. Miss Skeres, you shall share his fate.” At this, Skeres’ jaw dropped in horror. “I certainly hope Bubotuber pus is to your liking,” Snape continued, a cruel smile playing at his lips. “You will be getting to know its properties first hand Tuesday evening.”

* * *

The sun had barely risen over the horizon on Saturday morning, but excluding the lone figure jogging the circumference of the loch on the school grounds, an unusual amount of people were awake and active at Hogwarts.

“Has the Professor seen this?” a gruff-voiced man asked.

“No, but he’s going to want to,” a leaner man replied.

“What am I going to want to see?” Michael Foley asked, arriving at the scene with yet another figure.

He was garbed in his dressing gown, looking sleepy but curious. The room that he’d entered, a side room off from the Entrance Hall, held four others, aside from him and the woman who had brought him. They were all gathered around a table which held an assortment of printed parchment and notes. The lean man gestured to one sheet, which was particularly large.

Foley walked toward it and read. “J10 to H8 two-by-two survey: resistivity idiosyncratic, magimeter residual readings... eccentric,” he trailed off, glancing up at the others.

“Go on, keep reading,” the gruff-voiced man urged.

Foley looked back down, his face shining with excitement. “Subsurface structure at grid position, substrative at two-hundred feet below structure foundations at grid position. Survey certainty: _positive_ , Merlin’s beard!” He looked back up at the others, grinning wildly. “Ladies and gents, gather the others. This is cause for celebration! We got a positive!”


	9. The Board of Governors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger Surges, Resentment in Spades, The Stress Builds, and Happiness Fades

**The Board of Governors**

Tuesday afternoon’s History of Magic double found Scott, as per usual, not listening to a word spoken by Professor Binns. Through his far more titillating distraction – at present a fascinating Kate Bush song – he vaguely registered Alex’s concerned glances in his direction.

Since he and Ethan had begun talking again, Alex had apparently since taken up a new source of anxiety: Scott’s newfound moodiness. Since Friday’s disastrous Potions lesson, Scott had been quick to anger and – even he had to admit – unbearable to be around. Alex had chalked this up to the events of the lesson, and he wasn’t entirely incorrect. Scott reminisced about the endless _fun_ that had ensued after Snape had swooped away from their table. Scott and Skeres had proceeded to attempt to brew a potion, and after a full twenty minutes, the potion had quite suddenly fizzled violently and erupted, spraying Scott with faulty Herbicide.

“Idiot boy!” Snape had raged at Scott, who’d been clutching at his face in agony, a horrible sizzling sound filling the dungeon. “Five points from Ravenclaw! Now get yourself up to the hospital wing and out of my sight!” He’d turned to Skeres, who had deftly dodged the explosion of toxic liquid. “Skeres, there’s nothing you can do with your potion anymore. Take this buffoon up to Madam Pomfrey. Now!” he’d added when she showed every sign of refusing.

“Sir, please,” Alex had offered, “I can take him, it’s fine-“

“Ms Wroxton, I don’t imagine Haworth would appreciate being left without a partner. Be quiet and return to brewing.”

Scott and Skeres had left then, the latter angrily striding ahead of him as he struggled to walk straight.

“Just so you know, Carter,” she’d fumed, “you owe me a new cauldron and potion kit now that you’ve ruined mine.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he’d muttered through gritted teeth, trying desperately not to cry out from the blinding pain.

The school matron, Madam Pomfrey, had fixed him up following this debacle, though she hadn’t managed to stop him from hurting in ways other than physically. The fact that he’d earned his first detention, lost more points than he’d ever lost before, and been injured by his own incompetence only served to act as a side-note to his strongest source of rage. Since Foley’s revelation he had, of course, hidden all of the money he’d been given by his parents in his dorm where he’d never have to see it.

He’d been distracting himself through music and schoolwork since, though he knew that Alex had not been fooled. When the agonisingly long lesson of History had concluded, Scott collected his marked assignment from Binns’ desk. He glanced down at the results that he’d gotten and found that he was hardly surprised. Later, at dinner, Alex situated himself opposite from Scott and stared long and hard at him.

After several minutes of this, Scott had started to become fed up. “Something on my face, Alex?” he remarked, irritated.

“No, I’m just worried,” he replied, his tone mirroring this admittance. “I thought you really liked History, Scott?”

“I wouldn’t call lessons with Casper the Stodgy Ghost ‘history’,” he snapped. “If Binns doesn’t want to act like a teacher, I can’t be bothered being a student in his classes.”

“You don’t pay any attention in class,” Alex pointed out.

“Like any of you listen to him, either. You’re all half asleep, and-“

“We pay more attention than you,” Ethan cut in fairly. “And we take notes.”

“Exactly,” Alex said quickly as Scott had turned to look at Ethan furiously. “It can’t be good for your marks. I don’t think you’d forgive yourself if you failed History of Magic-“

“On top of Potions?” Scott interrupted angrily. Alex looked abashed, but continued to watch him. Ethan focused on his food, wisely keeping silent. His Herbicide potion had apparently been so good that Snape had decided to provide it to Professor Sprout for her Herbology lessons. “What did you two get on our essay just now?” Scott demanded of them both.

Their faces quickly coloured with embarrassment, and they didn’t respond for a moment.

“Sixty-six,” Alex muttered.

“Seventy-three,” mumbled Ethan.

Scott’s hand dove into his robes, and he drew out three folded sheets of parchment, several times larger than either of the others’ own essays had been. He brandished the parchment in front of their faces. “What does that say, eh?”

Ethan glanced at the number and then back down at his dinner. Alex’s lips thinned as he read the mark. “One hundred and twenty-one percent,” he said quietly.

“What was that?” Scott asked, feigning deafness.

Alex sighed. “One hundred and twenty-one percent,” he repeated, louder and clearer.

“One hundred and twenty-one percent,” Scott said with relish. Ethan stirred his soup awkwardly. “I sure hope I don’t fail History of Magic!” he cried sarcastically.

Alex’s face was growing steadily redder. “Scott, I’m just trying to help. You’ve been in a state ever since Friday, and I thought I’d return the favour you did for me. But if you’re just going to bite my head off-“

“Leave it, Alex,” Ethan warned.

Alex spun to stare at him. “Ethan, you can’t-“

“It’s his business. We shouldn’t get on his case about it.”

Alex sighed and crossed his arms. They sat in silence for the rest of dinner, and when they’d finished, Alex spoke up again. “Well, maybe we can all head up to the common room and get some work done. Er, Ethan, want to practice some charmswork?”

“I won’t be coming,” Scott said shortly.

They blinked at him. “Er, why not?” Ethan ventured cautiously.

Scott pulled his dragon-hide gloves from his robe pocket. “Your memory’s getting worse than Alex’s,” he commented unnecessarily. “I’ve got detention.”

They separated in the Entrance Hall with a muttered “See you in Astronomy,” and Scott found his way down to the dungeon where he was to serve his punishment. He found that Snape and Skeres had already arrived ahead of him. Skeres’ death glare could have scorched steel, and Snape’s icy look could have cooled it.

“We were beginning to wonder whether you had forgotten our little gathering, Carter,” Snape said coolly. “Now that you are here, I shall explain what you will be doing as punishment. In these barrels,” he began, indicating the enormous canisters that lined the dark chamber, “you will find several gallons of pure pus, freshly squeezed from Professor Sprout’s batch of Bubotubers in Greenhouse Three. The pus is worth a great deal to the school, and will fetch a lofty price when the portions we decide we do not require are sold. You have been selected for the prestigious position of preparing the fluid for use.

“You shall extract, dilute, and preserve every last drop of pus in this room by the time you are done tonight. I shall return in six hours time, by which time I expect you to have finished. If you have not, you will return tomorrow night. Your instructions for the process are written on this,” he said, almost cheerfully, as he handed them a sheet of parchment. He turned and swept from the room, only stopping at the door. He turned back around to face them. “Oh, and do be careful. Undiluted Bubotuber pus does curious things to exposed skin when touched,” he finished maliciously as he finally left.

* * *

Professor Michael Foley stood before at least a dozen men and women. They were each seated in a horseshoe formation along an enormously long table. Michael stood in their midst, feeling uncomfortably claustrophobic at their curious stares. A few shuffled papers idly, whilst others whispered behind their hands to one another. A man standing off to the side held a scroll open before him and cleared his throat for silence.

“The Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is now in session,” the Recording Secretary announced in ringing tones. “Members of the Board attending this meeting are as follows: Mr Lucius Malfoy, O.M 2nd Class, Chairman.” Malfoy, an austere man with long platinum blond hair and grey eyes, nodded at the recognition. Michael knew the name well - Malfoy was old money. “Mr Josiah Gamp, A.D.” A balding man glanced up at his name. “Madam Gravius, O.M 3rd Class.” A tall woman with fly-about white hair inclined her head. “Junior Minister Lillian Derby, Improper Use of Magic Office. The Most Erudite Professor Simon Kilgrave. Mr Eamon O’Malley, Treasurer. Mr Leland Nostrum, Chancellor of the M.E.S.P.”

Michael was feeling more than a mite bit anxious standing there awkwardly as the Governors were introduced. He watched Professor Kilgrave twirl his goatee with his half-finger and gulped surreptitiously. “Mr Mikhail Belov, O.M 3rd Class. Madam Selene Bobbin.” Michael wished they would simply get on with the proceedings – he wasn’t sure how much more pressure he could take. “Madam Muldoon. Master Jens Kuhlmann, W.C.A.,” the Recording Secretary cleared his throat once again. “The Order of business this evening will be administrated by the Executive Secretary to the Board of Governors, Mr Titus Skeres, O.M 2nd Class.”

The Recording Secretary fell silent and sat at a side table, drawing a length of parchment and a quill towards himself. Another man, who sat to Malfoy’s right at the opposite end of the horseshoe from Michael, cleared his throat. The man was dark of hair, though fair of complexion. He didn’t seem to resemble the girl from Michael’s Slytherin-Huffflepuff first year class, who was olive skinned and far shorter in height. He only knew the elder Skeres by reputation – a shrewd businessman, and skilled journalist.

“Plea Order Three-Three-One-Two: Presented by Professor Michael Archibald Foley,” Skeres read, his voice crisp and diction pronounced. “Subject: Authority over Hogwarts Excavation. You have the floor, Professor,” he finished, nodding at Michael.

Michael blew a breath out. “Distinguished Governors,” he began respectfully, glancing at the shorthand notes that he’d scrawled on his palm. “As you know, this meeting was called because many have voiced concerns over the continued funding of my archaeological excavation. I can assure you that the excavation is, and will, make the progress that was promised by the Headmaster in July. The dig has begun on the third floor due to structural concerns, but we believe that results will begin flooding in within a matter of weeks. I ask that you have faith in me, as well as my team of experts, and to allow us primary responsibility of the dig, and of whatever we discover within.”

He watched the Governors closely to see how they responded. Most looked impassive, though he was unnerved by Malfoy and O’Malley’s sceptical glances at one another.

“You are aware, I trust,” Malfoy drawled, “that many of our investors feel that this study would be better off in their... capable hands?”

Michael’s breath caught, and he found himself anxiously clenching and unclenching his fists. He hastily stopped fidgeting and responded. “Would these investors be averse to being named?”

Malfoy merely smiled. “I would not wish to betray the trust of those who allow us to offer an education to so many young witches and wizards.”

Michael nodded. “I reject the assertion that any profit driven excavation could perform my job better than I could. As the Headmaster pointed out earlier this year, this is an academic establishment, and therefore, any addition to the agglomeration of knowledge and learning should be the top priority of such an institution. An investor’s pocketbook should not come in the way of history, end of story,” he added fiercely.

Several of the Governors were muttering amongst themselves now. He saw Skeres eyeing him, and he was unnerved by his dark gaze. Malfoy whispered something in his ear to which Skeres nodded, and then shook his head.

Then Madam Gravius spoke. “Your point holds merit; however you are ignoring the fact that we run the risk of overspending on this venture. Funding from Educational Societies only gets us so far. No offense,” she added, glancing at Professor Kilgrave.

“Oh none taken, none taken at all, Madam,” Kilgrave said in unctuous tones. “I quite agree, of course. Funding is so much easier to find from those the Board are most friendly with. I sympathise, Foley, I really do,” he simpered, not really sounding like it, “but how can we be sure that your excavation won’t last far beyond what the Treasury will allow?”

“You have my word, and you have the word of Albus Dumbledore. Out of curiosity, why wasn’t he allowed to attend this evening?” Michael queried, attempting to keep an accusative tone from his voice.

Titus Skeres chimed in. “The Headmaster is not typically called to sit in on meetings regarding school funding,” he stated chidingly. “You may be a faculty member at the school, but your excavation has no relevance to the Headmaster’s duties at the school – namely the organisation of the staff and school body. Please remain on topic, Foley, lest you do yourself a disservice.” Skeres didn’t quite glare, but his tone sent the same message.

Michael was beginning to panic. He couldn’t prove to the Board that his excavation wouldn’t drain funds, and it seemed that too much of the Board was more interested in appealing to shadowy investors – the identities of which he had a hunch.

“May I ask what window of time I have before the dig is rendered unprofitable?” he tried.

They each considered him for a moment, before O’Malley spoke begrudgingly. “Approximately four months, and that’s pushing it.”

“Could I request to appeal another Plea Order this February, then? If you don’t like the results I’ve gotten by then, you’re welcome to strip my authority, or else do whatever you feel necessary. But if the Treasury can hold, why not see what comes about?” he pleaded.

“You’re that confident that what you’ll find is worth all this, then?” Selene Bobbin asked curiously.

“Desperate, more like,” Josiah Gamp croaked.

“I am beyond confident that whatever my team and I uncover over the next few months will change the way we consider the history of these Isles, and of our Magical History,” he piped up grandly, attempting to make a positive impression. “Believe me when I say that what we will gain from this excavation will not just be money, but a profound understanding of ourselves, our history, and this school that we each so deeply care for. Thank you. I hope you’ll consider my request.”

Skeres raised an eyebrow. “Well?” he asked brusquely. “Is that it? Very well, we’ll put it to a vote, shall we? All in favour of allowing Professor Foley and his team their continued authority over the project, raise your hand and speak to the affirmative.”

Madam Gravius’ hand raised into the air. “Aye,” she said shortly.

Selene Bobbin’s hand followed hers. “Aye,” she said, eyeing Michael appraisingly.

Leland Nostrum was next. “Aye.”

Belov’s hand was in the air, and he, too, said, “Aye.”

Lillian Derby seemed to think for a while before finally doing as the others had done. “Aye.”

Skeres waited for a while for anyone else to confirm their support, but none came. “Five in favour,” he said delicately. “Less than half, I’m afraid.”

Michael felt sick. They _couldn’t_. Not when he was so close.

“Those against the motion to allow Foley control over the project please raise your hand and speak to the negative.”

Malfoy led the Board in negative votes. “Nay,” he stated imperiously.

O’Malley, after glancing in Malfoy’s direction, voted the same. As did Gamp, and Madam Muldoon.

Skeres then raised his own hand importantly. “Nay,” he said decisively. He looked around at the two who hadn’t voted yet. “Professor Kilgrave, Master Kuhlmann?”

“Abstain,” they both said.

Skeres looked incensed. “A resolution cannot be reached with a tie. I would ask that you consider which action you wish taken, _as is your responsibility on this council,_ ” he thundered.

The two men seemed to think for a while, though they still looked indecisive.

 _“Sooner, rather than later, I should hope!”_ Skeres added furiously.

Michael’s heart beat so thunderously that he was sure the entire Board must have heard it. He could feel a cold sweat creeping down his brow as he awaited one of the men to decide.

Finally, after much deliberation, Kilgrave opened his mouth. “Aye,” he simply said.

It took both Michael and Skeres a few moments to register what the man had said. When it had sunk in, though, Michael almost collapsed from relief. His legs wobbled underneath him, and he stumbled into the long table.

“Very well,” Skeres called contemptuously. “With six votes to five, with one abstention, Plea Order Three-Three-One-Two is accepted. Thank you for your time, Professor Foley,” he said disingenuously. “Another meeting will be held in four months time to review your case.”

They all began standing and chatting idly. Michael merely stood there, hardly daring to believe his good fortune. He’d been sure for a moment that there’d be Curse-Breakers infesting the dig site in their dozens by the following morning, but by some miracle, History had been rescued from the jaws of destruction. Selene Bobbin smiled at him as he stumbled out of the room. As he dashed down the corridor, he almost ran straight into Professor Dumbledore.

“Professor, Albus!” he cried, delirious with excitement. “They’ve let me continue, we’re all good!”

“Excellent! I knew you could do it!” he smiled, looking genuinely proud. “I was just heading down for a nice hot chocolate in the kitchens. Would you care to join me?”

And so they set off, Dumbledore chuckling merrily as Michael described Skeres’ furious face.

* * *

Scarlett glared at the tanned boy blocking her way. They’d been at this slave labour for over five hours now, by last check of her watch, and it hadn’t become any less gruelling a task. Scarlett wasn’t sure what was worse about it. Either the foul, viscous pus they were handling, or the foul, vicious moron she had to do it with. At present, his unseemly mass was blocking her ability to deposit her bucketful of odorous slime into the instrument where diluting chemicals were poured from.

“Carter, move, or so help me I will force this pus into you and use _you_ to dilute it,” she threatened.

“You’ll need a stepladder first,” he replied insolently, still not moving from his own diluter.

“Who said anything about pouring it down your throat?”

This finally got him to move. She smirked as he scowled at her.

“That’s the last of that barrel,” she said when she’d finished storing the diluted pus. “We’d better get started on the last one now.” They’d made good time, she thought. Carter had been unbearably slow for most of it, but he tended to pick up the slack whenever he was given a particularly good threat. She’d entertained herself by coming up with some particularly imaginative ones.

As the barrel tap poured the yellowish goo, it stalled. The taps occasionally did this - sometimes the pus would glue the faucet shut if it managed to dry enough. This time, Scarlett was struggling more than usual to get the tap unstuck. She’d stuck a gloved finger into the hole and was desperately trying to dislodge the fluid, but it seemed to be vehemently glued shut.

“I almost pity House elves,” she caught herself admitting.

“I suppose you know what it’s like, don’t you?” Carter muttered as he stood behind her, waiting for progress from her end.

“Oh please, I don’t treat my elves this bad,” she fumed, managing to shove her whole hand into the socket.

“No, I mean you know what it’s like to be two feet tall,” he elaborated.

She gritted her teeth as she plunged her arm in and out of the tap hole. “One more comment, Carter, and I swear...”

“You’ll call for Daddy? You said he’s here tonight, why don’t you go run to him, Skeres?”

“Don’t you dare, Carter,” she said in a deadly voice. He was putting too many toes over the line. He could mock her all he wanted, and she could give as badly as she got. But making fun of her family – did his insolence know no bounds? She certainly wouldn’t stoop to that level. _Well, with a few exceptions,_ she admitted to herself begrudgingly, _but his mother’s a Mudblood, and they hardly count._

“Going to get him to write some nasty articles, Skeres? ‘Evil boy makes fun of little girl – read more on page 3’.” He laughed at his own offensively unfunny joke. “Or maybe you’ll- Watch it, Skeres!”

The tap had suddenly vibrated dangerously, and pus had leaked out from around its sides. Before it could burst, Carter had leaped onto her, shoving her to the ground. Her arm was wrenched painfully from the tap socket and pus began to flow freely from it as she crashed to the ground. The bucket that she’d half filled with slime was knocked over as she collided into it, and she was only saved from it touching her skin by her layers of clothing and gloves.

Carter shoved his own bucket swiftly under the flowing tap, catching most of the pus as it blasted forth. Her arm stung from the force exerted as her arm had been pulled loose, and from the uncomfortable way that she’d landed. She looked down at her pus-coated gloves, and back up at Carter who was busy with his bucket. White-hot anger bubbling inside her, she launched herself at him.

“What the-?”

Without thinking, she snaked her arms up under his robes and found the first bit of bare skin that she could. Beneath his shirt, her gloved hands clutched his lower back in a vice. He screamed in agony as he fell against the barrel. He shoved her off forcefully, and she landed painfully again. He stumbled over to the bench holding the diluters and began to tear his robes off, writhing in agony all the while.

She climbed to her feet, making sure not to touch the pus that she was now drenched in. Carter had now removed most of his clothing and was now twisting his head around to see the damage that she’d done. She was immediately repulsed at what she saw. His lower back was coated in a sprinkling of painful-looking boils. It made him look like he had some sort of horrific growth sprouting from his rear. She registered regret that was not swallowed by the vindication that she tried to feel.

“Look, Carter, I’m sorr-“

The door burst open. Snape stood in the doorway, looking thunderous. “What in Merlin’s name is going on here?” he demanded.

They must have looked quite a sight. Scarlett coated in a layer of foul pus, Carter in nought but his pants, his back horribly disfigured.

“I thought,” Snape said in a quiet voice that belied something far scarier, “that I could leave you two alone for a few hours without incident. Clearly, I was mistaken. You will both serve weekly detentions with me for the next month. I will attempt to remedy your mess, without your interference. Both of you leave. Now!”

She didn’t need telling twice. Scarlett sped out of the dungeon without a backwards glance, only slowing her pace when she’d reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

“Legacy!” she cried at the stone wall. It slid open and she dashed inside.

“Scarlett?”

It was Emile. Her best friend was staring at her, concern etched into his features.

“No time to explain, Em. I need to get these cleaned off,” she panted. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spares, would you?”

“Er, sorry, no,” he apologised. “Erm, I think Lynn had some?”

“Right. Thanks, Em. I’d hug you, but you’d probably die if I did.”

“That’s okay,” he said, unnerved.

After she’d dropped her clothes into the laundry pile, stolen Trinity Lynn’s robes (she’d left a few Knuts as penance), and changed into them, she raced back down the stairs. She was disappointed to see that Emile hadn’t waited up for her, though she knew he’d have been made to leave by whichever prefect had escorted them to Astronomy. She quickly left, swooping through corridors at blinding speed.

She didn’t think there was much chance of being discovered by Argus Filch, the cantankerous caretaker – the man was rheumatic and slow. Peeves, the school’s resident poltergeist, however, was the threat that weighed on her mind. The mischief-loving entity never got bored of sowing discord in the student body.

As she reached the fourth floor she quickly leaped behind a suit of armour. She’d seen a lone shape in the darkness ahead, and didn’t much feel like dealing with whatever it was. She could hear a slow sliding sound from down the corridor and she wondered if it was Filch. She gave into the temptation of peeking around the suit of armour, and was shocked at what she saw.

“Carter?”

It was. He was clothed again, though he looked worse for wear. The look that he gave her would have sent most running for the hills, but Scarlett seemed to lack that wisdom.

“Why aren’t you in the Hospital Wing?” she asked, vague concern surfacing against her will.

His hand twitched to his wand, though she was fast to respond.

“Flipendo!” they both cried.

The blue beams met in mid air, rebounding off one another and crashing into different locations. A window was shattered by his spell, and the armour she’d hidden behind lost its helmet to hers. She leaped back behind the now-headless suit of armour, waiting for Carter to appear around the side.

“Stop this, Carter, you’re being stupid!” she shrieked.

“Stupid, am I? We’ll see, Skeres, we’ll see,” he crowed, sounding somewhat deranged. “Flipendo!”

She saw blue light come from the opposite side of the armour and rushed around to jinx him whilst he was occupied, but instead ran straight into him. He’d tricked her into revealing herself, and she silently cursed her foolishness. He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up into the air. She screeched, kicking wildly. He clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed further down the corridor. Carter hurried along the opposite way, carrying a squirming Scarlett, who was currently trying to draw blood from his hand with her teeth. The struggling pair found their way into an empty room off to the side, where they would be theoretically undisturbed. As Carter kicked the door shut, Scarlett saw her opportunity. She swung out her leg and managed to get it to collide with Carter’s lower back. He cried out in agony and instantly dropped her. She scrambled to her feet and quickly tried to think of a curse to blast the moron into oblivion, when she was cut off by a voice.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

She looked up in shock, breathing heavily. From where he was crumpled on the floor, Carter looked up too. “Haworth?” he moaned faintly.

Scarlett thought she vaguely recognised the boy, who was currently leaning against a cabinet, his arms crossed. He was so pale that he nearly glowed in the dark, and he was watching them with amusement.

“By all means, keep at your spat,” he said, smirking. “I’m interested to see where this goes.”

Carter was stiffly climbing to his feet. Scarlett span back around and raised her wand to hex him, but instead he charged forwards, head-first. She darted to the side, though he’d been too quick for her to avoid entirely. His shoulder met her chest, knocking her back to the floor. As she landed painfully on the floor, she raised her wand again.

“Flipendo,” she gasped out.

Carter met the floor with a crash, squawking furiously. She prepared to jinx him again when suddenly the door thudded open. Croaker and Wroxton both stood there, wands drawn and pointed at her. She swore angrily. Haworth swore disappointedly.

“What the hell is going on here?” the Wroxton boy spat out.

“Peeves,” came a pained voice. Scarlett stared at Carter, who was climbing to his feet again. “We ran into Peeves on our way up from detention, and things... got out of hand,” he muttered, not looking at anyone.

Scarlett was baffled to say the least. She couldn’t understand why on earth he’d bothered to lie. He had the backup of two other Ravenclaws – she glanced at Haworth – three other Ravenclaws, and she was alone in a room with them all. They could have easily taken her down if Carter had wished to, and judging from mere moments ago he clearly did. So why-?

 _Oh_ , she realised, _he really is an idiot_. She almost wished that he _was_ being pointlessly noble, rather than disaffectedly stoic. She could have respected that, at least. Instead, he was more content pretending that he was fine - that she hadn’t hurt him as badly as she had.

“A real pain in the arse, that Peeves is,” she muttered sardonically. “Really makes life difficult.”

Croaker seemed to readily accept this excuse. Wroxton narrowed his eyes. “Haworth?” he demanded.

The pale boy glanced between Scarlett and Carter. “I heard something and came to investigate,” he said, shrugging. “It was the poltergeist.”

“Great,” Carter muttered impatiently. “Can we go to Astronomy, now?”

* * *

The first thing they all saw as they left the room was Argus Filch, wheezing and panting, and the prefect Robert Hilliard.

“There they are!” Filch cried. “Windows smashed, armour vandalised! I’ll have you up by your ankles in the dungeons!”

“Would someone mind explaining?” Hilliard asked grimly.

“It was Peeves,” Skeres said simply. “He thought he’d get at us after our detention.”

“It’s true,” Scott directed at Hilliard. “We were just trying to defend ourselves.”

Filch let out a furious cry of “PEEVES!” and bustled off, his skeletal cat Mrs. Norris slinking after him.

Hilliard sighed. “Come with me, then.”

Scott and the others followed him upstairs. Scott tried his hardest not to let his suffering show as he walked. He’d been in pain before, but he’d been kicked and hit the floor twice since Skeres had initially lathered his back in pus. Now it was all he could do not to start screaming in agony. He realised that Alex was watching him.

“What?” he asked a little roughly.

He simply shook his head and looked away. Thoroughly aggravated, Scott couldn’t leave it there. “No, what is it? You’re not still wanting to harp on about History of Magic, are you?”

“No I don’t, but-“

“History of Magic, eh?” Hilliard cut in. “I don’t think I should be saying this as your prefect, but make sure you drop that class as soon as you get the opportunity. I couldn't stand Binns, personally.”

“Tell me about it,” Scott muttered. “That man- er- ghost’s about as engaging as a Flobberworm.”

Ethan blinked confusedly. No doubt he didn’t understand what could possibly be unengaging about Flobberworms.

“I think it’s Binns’ engagement with the subject that’s the issue, not the students’,” Hilliard remarked sagely. “If you want to be a good teacher, you have to be interested in whatever you’re talking about. Binns just sits and reads notes. Doesn’t help that he’s dead, either,” he added as an afterthought.

Scott considered this nugget of wisdom. He knew Binns was an incompetent teacher, but he obviously knew the material off by heart. He wondered just how long he’d been teaching, both alive and dead. That much time doing one job could drain the life out of anyone, figuratively and literally. But what if that could change? What if-

“Agh!” he gasped, tears springing to his eyes. As they ascended the spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower, he felt several boils on his back burst, and felt the wet ooze of pus sliding down his back.

“You alright?” Hilliard asked concernedly.

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut through the pain. “Yeah, I just pulled my back in detention,” he grumbled, expertly keeping any trace of a wobble from his voice. “Snape really pushed us to the grindstone, you know,” he chuckled weakly.

“Yeah,” Skeres murmured quietly from behind him.

Recovering, he started back up to the top of the tower, resolutely not looking at Alex.


	10. Boil and Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain Escalates, But Can Be Healed. Fixing Class is Simple, If it's Your Field

**Boil and Trouble**

Scott’s mood did not improve over the next few weeks, much to the chagrin of everybody he spoke to. Among the school body, he had managed to create for himself the image of a quick-to-anger fool. His temperament had been so foul as of late that he’d managed to reduce Katie Bell to tears during Charms, had a shouting match with Cormac McLaggen over Quidditch, and caused Ethan and Alex to distance themselves from him slightly. His Potions results had dropped even further than they already had, though for some reason, he never seemed to be able to gather enough energy to spar verbally with Skeres.

Scott had also forgone his morning exercise, which had once been a nearly daily activity (excluding Wednesday mornings). Despite the lack of gruelling physicality, Scott looked tireder than ever. There were visible lines under his eyes, and even he had begun to doze during Binns’ classes.

As his presence could hardly be stood by his own friends, Scott found himself spending larger amounts of time with Professor Foley. It was in the resident archaeologist’s office that he found himself in now.

Foley handed Scott a mug of steaming tea and sat down behind his desk. Scott stared absent-mindedly into the piping hot liquid, thinking about nothing in particular.

“Scott, can I just apologise for distressing you so much?” Foley said suddenly, breaking Scott out of his reverie.

“Apologise?” he asked disconcertedly. “What for?”

Foley frowned. “For telling you the truth about our economy,” he said slowly. “I didn’t quite realise how much of an effect it would have on you, and I was perhaps a little bitter, myself.”

“Oh,” was all Scott answered with.

Truthfully, the horrible reality of the international tomb-pilfering that had been carried out for centuries had only been a secondary concern for some time now. Ever since his Tuesday night detention, he’d been more occupied with the unshakeable misery that came from insecurity in oneself. His Sorting had come back to him in his dreams whenever he had managed to ignore the continuing stinging from the carbuncular growths on his back enough to fall asleep. The Sorting Hat returned in his nightmares, mocking and clever, and whenever he begged for Ravenclaw it simply laughed and said: “Fools don’t belong in Ravenclaw. No, you ought to be where you truly belong: GRYFFINDOR!”

“Maybe I can make you feel better,” Foley offered. “I think you’ll be pleased to hear that we’re on track to reach the structure that we discovered. We’ve had to be careful with the castle’s structural integrity, as well as to not breach any rooms the school needs intact, but I think we’re past the main hurdles now. We’ve already surpassed the dungeons - it’ll be any day before we find what we’re looking for.”

Scott was perturbed. “But when you do manage to reach whatever it is, what’s to stop the Ministry, or Gringotts, or whoever from taking what they want and turning it into profit?”

“Thankfully, I’ve got some time before anyone else can get their hands on whatever we discover. If I’m fast enough, we’ll be on track to getting what we want out of this project, and maybe more,” Foley reassured him.

Scott didn’t feel particularly reassured, however. “And if you take too long?” he asked nervously.

Foley’s face went slightly grey. “Well... We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he responded evasively.

They lulled into uncomfortable silence. Scott wasn’t appeased, though he knew Professor Foley couldn’t exactly say anything that would make him feel better about the situation. The pure helplessness that accompanied his thoughts regarding the historical destruction and appropriation of ancient artefacts ranked far higher on Scott’s list of subjects that made him feel unhappy, and so he quickly preoccupied himself by stewing in his regular insecurity. He sipped his tea quietly.

“So,” Foley interjected, piercing the silence, “Halloween tomorrow. What classes have you got?”

“Thursday’s D&E, Herbology, History, Charms and then double Transfiguration,” Scott recited.

“History of Magic, huh?” Foley grinned. “Still wanting me to take over the job?”

Scott nodded fervently. He’d already begged Foley to take Binns’ subject instead, but he’d refused him every time. “Surely Professor Dumbledore can find a substitute for Defence?” he asked desperately.

Foley smiled sympathetically at his beseeching expression. “Dumbledore was very specific when he said that I was the only man for the job. I think there’s been... twenty-four that stayed on for one school year each. I’m not sure I would have taken the job if Dumbledore hadn’t shown me the Pensieve. In fact,” he added, grinning fondly, “I sure that’s why he did.”

After putting his now empty cup down, Scott crossed his arms and huffed querulously. Foley offered him an understanding expression.

“Scott,” Foley said slowly, looking him in the eyes. “You’ve been struggling with History-“

“I’ve not been struggling with History, I’ve been struggling with Binns!” he cut in hotly.

“But,” Foley continued, as though there had been no interruption, “I’m sure you can think of a way to make class bearable, even,” he chided, as Scott opened his mouth to interject again, “with Professor Binns as your teacher. You know the subject material better than anyone else in your year. Maybe you can find a way to use that to your advantage?”

Scott didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to think of what Professor Foley could mean, but before he could ask, Foley glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Ah, looks like it’s almost seven. You’d better run off to your detention. I wouldn’t want to make Severus any less fond of me than he already is,” Foley said, standing. Scott followed suit dispiritedly.

They headed over to the door, where Foley stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Scott,” he said seriously. “You’re a brilliant young man. I’d hate to see you give up on something you really care about.”

Scott nodded.

“You can’t let people or things keep you from doing what you want to do, or what you need to do,” he continued passionately. “Maybe it seems hard, but from the time I’ve known you, I reckon you could find a way. That sphinx you told me about?” He laughed. “And every teacher I’ve asked has said that you’re one of their best, if not _the_ best, students they’ve had the pleasure of teaching.”

Scott smiled tremulously. He had the bizarre urge to hug the man, which sat very oddly with him, as he rarely even hugged his own father. Foley took his hand from his shoulder and gave him a firm reassuring pat on the back. At once, Scott doubled over in agony. He couldn’t help but cry out as he felt a few furuncles burst.

Foley stared at him with concern. “Scott? Are you alright?”

Through blurred vision, Scott looked up at him. He tried to open his mouth to reply with an affirmative, but all he managed was a stream of vomit.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey’s reaction to the gangrenous infection that had spread across Scott’s back was one to behold. She had shrieked in disbelief when he told her that he’d been exposed to the Bubotuber pus exactly three weeks prior. She had informed him that he’d be staying the night, detention or not. When asked why he hadn’t come to see her sooner he’d simply shrugged, to which she had shaken her head exasperatedly and headed for a cabinet of elixirs, muttering about masculinity.

Scott felt extremely humiliated, as he had expected to be, though he felt slightly thankful that he’d miss his detention. He and Skeres barely spoke a word to one another these days – they’d seemed to both come to the conclusion that they both acted irrationally around one another, and decided that the best way to avoid doing idiotic things that they’d simply ignore one another. Predictably, this made detentions and Potions class a bizarre experience for the both of them; they did them entirely together.

The determined avoidance of their issues with one another had led to an unsettling degree of tension - thick enough to have to wade through. Scott rather thought that Snape got a sick sort of pleasure at their mutual dislike for one another, as he often tried to inflame their rivalry by making snide comments about one dragging the other’s efficacy down. Scott, of course, was normally on the receiving end of this abuse. He’d been called as many synonyms for ‘moron’ as there were under the sun at this point, and it was seriously grating on his nerves.

Nevertheless, his excuse for missing the delightful three hour activity Snape had set for them tonight – pickling frog brains and hearts – came with a few detractors. He’d not visited the hospital wing of the castle after receiving his injury because he’d not wanted to look like an idiot. As far as he was concerned, it was her fault that he’d ended up here on the Friday her cauldron had exploded, and her putting him back in a similar incident only a few days later would have severely damaged his image – to himself and to everybody else. He simply couldn’t have it. So he’d suffered through the boils. As difficult as it was to sit in a chair, lie down, or walk too quickly, that was nothing compared to how he’d feel if he admitted defeat. But now, here he was, worse than ever in every way.

Halloween morning came with a nice sunrise. Madam Pomfrey insisted that he remained in bed for the rest of the day, despite his protestations that he felt much better. She provided him some breakfast and swept away to her office. He lay there on his stomach, chewing at his toast, and listening intently for Madam Pomfrey. His back was heavily bandaged and smeared with thick green cream, which relieved all of the pain that he might have otherwise felt. He knew that the infection hadn’t entirely subsided, but as long as he kept the cream and bandages on, he should be in the clear.

Quietly, he slipped off the hospital bed and grabbed his freshly ironed robes, pulling them on. He made sure his wand was in his pocket before tip-toeing over to the double doors that led out of the ward. The doors clunked dully as he tried to open them - Pomfrey, it seemed, had locked them. He pulled out his wand and jabbed the keyhole of the door.

“Alohomora,” he whispered.

The lock clicked, and he pushed the door open. He’d discovered the Unlocking Charm upon reading about the Jacobean thief, Eldon Elsrickle, whose plundering had led to the loss of many ancient artefacts. He hadn’t realised it would come into use so quickly - before he could even impress Professor Flitwick. He sneaked out of the ward and made his way up to Ravenclaw Tower, where he grabbed his bag and headed down to Herbology.

He arrived in Greenhouse One to see the class already gathered around a table of metal cans. Professor Sprout, a squat woman in dirty patched robes, glanced up as he arrived.

“Ah, Carter, excellent,” she greeted.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor.”

“Not a problem, Carter, we were only just starting,” she said graciously.

He stood beside Alex, who was beside Ethan. She glanced up at him, looking like she was bursting to speak to him.

“Not yet,” Scott whispered to her, nodding at Sprout.

“Now, in the field of Herbology,” Sprout was saying, “certain pruning measures can be necessary. Weeds and other growths can severely damage gardens and plants, and in order to deal with these blighters, we use Herbicide. Also, if some of your plants are being particularly uncooperative, you can threaten them with the stuff, too. Works remarkably well on Mandrakes, wouldn’t you know it, but never mind that now.

“Now, I believe you’ve all brewed Herbicide in Potions, so you know how to make it. But using it is another thing entirely. The cans that you have in front of you are filled with Herbicide. I want you all to get into groups of four, and then you’ll take a can per group. Then, proceed to the edges of the greenhouse, and I’ll give you your next step.”

They all did so, standing in front of the plants that lined the walls of the greenhouse. Scott had partnered with Alex, Ethan, and Eloise Midgen of Hufflepuff. Midgen was a quiet girl, who was met in equal silence by Ethan, who hadn’t quite gotten over his ridiculous behaviour regarding girls despite his friendship with Alex.

Once they busied themselves with sprinkling Herbicide over specific areas of the plants they were tending to, Alex began speaking.

“Scott, what the hell is going on? You weren’t at breakfast or Essaycraft, and Skeres was going on about the hospital wing or something. What happened in detention last night?”

“I didn’t go to detention because I was in the hospital wing having my back uninfected, but that’s not important right now,” he muttered.

“How is that _possibly_ unimportant?” she whispered agitatedly.

“I just want to apologise,” he continued, ignoring her question. “I’ve been acting ridiculous for weeks now, and it’s because I’ve been angry.”

“ _Really?_ We had no idea!” she remarked archly. Ethan snorted.

“I’ve been angry because I’m not as good as I should be,” he pressed on. “But that doesn’t mean I should take it out on you, or on anyone else. I’m sorry, and I’ll try to be better.”

Alex and Ethan both looked at him. They both wore near-identical expressions of pity and sympathy, to which Scott just barely held off rolling his eyes at.

“That’s okay, Scott,” Ethan piped up at once. “You were upset, and we didn’t bother to find out why.”

“No, that’s not- “ Scott began.

“And you’ve apologised, too, so we forgive you- “ Alex cut in.

“Would you stop? Please?” Scott almost yelled. Eloise Midgen glanced nervously over at Professor Sprout as she dripped Herbicide over a bioluminescent red weed.

His friends blinked at him. “But it’s true, we really don’t mind,” Alex assured him.

“But it’s not okay,” Scott said tiredly. “I acted like a prat because I felt like one. And I ended up with my whole back infected because of it.”

They didn’t seem to have anything to say to this admission, and so occupied the silence with the uprooting of weeds too weakened to clamp down around their gloved hands.

“Er, about that back infection...” Alex finally asked. “What exactly is that all about?”

He told them about his detention with Skeres, and how she’d been provoked into retaliating. He also admitted the truth about the confrontation he’d chalked up to Peeves’ interference, and that he’d pretended to be unhurt for weeks and weeks. When he’d finished, the lesson was nearing its end. Alex was watching him with a look that he didn’t much like.

“Let me guess,” he sighed, without too much heat in his voice, “you’re going to call me a hypocrite?”

Alex had the grace to look abashed, but continued all the same. “It’s just... you were the one urging me to come out and tell Ethan before it was too late, y’know, get things over and done with? I thought you might’ve learned from where I screwed up.”

“That was my fault, anyway,” Ethan mumbled quietly.

Scott didn’t really have an answer for her. He’d considered the question long before she’d even asked it, last night in the hospital wing. He’d thought he was ingenious for coming up with such good wisdom for his friend, but when it had come to applying it himself, he’d failed miserably. The only solution he’d arrived at was to simply be better in the future, which was vague and unhelpful.

“One thing that I’d like to know,” Ethan eventually intoned, “is what the infection is like. Bubotuber pus can do interesting things if left untreated. The bacteria should have mutated a culture of fascinating growths under the skin. Did you get a good look?”

Eloise Midgen looked positively green.

The bell chimed to signal morning break and they were dismissed by Professor Sprout. They found a spot in the courtyard, which had been decorated with Halloween decorations. A jack-o-lantern emanated dark organ music, which Scott’s walkman accompanied with the sound of gothic rock.

“I’ve had an idea for History of Magic,” Scott announced suddenly. “To make it more bearable. For all of us.”

His friends looked at him curiously.

_“Some people get by_

_With a little understanding_

_Some people get by_

_With a whole lot more...”_

“What could possibly make Binns not boring?” Ethan asked sceptically.

_“I don’t know_

_Why you gotta be so undemanding...”_

“Well, I don’t know for sure if everyone won’t be bored...” Scott admitted. “But if he wasn’t...”

_“One thing I know_

_I want more!”_

“If he wasn’t bored?” Alex questioned over the rising music. The combined organ, percussion, and electric guitar had caused a few other denizens of the courtyard to glance over.

“You’ll see,” Scott said mysteriously.

_“I want more!”_

As they filed into the History of Magic classroom, Scott made sure that he sat at the desk in the very middle of the room. He didn’t want to be too close, nor too far. When Binns emerged from the blackboard in his usual disaffected manner, Scott prepared himself. He didn’t need any notes open, nor a quill, or any ink. What he had was what he knew.

He waited for the class to drudge along, barely keeping up in Binns’ dull wake. When enough of them were suitably bored, and Binns was a fair way into his monologue, Scott’s hand suddenly rose.

Binns continued to drone on. Scott wouldn’t have been surprised if he had entirely forgotten that he had a class before him at all. The rest of the cohort, however, had begun to notice Scott’s hand. They really shouldn’t have been surprised – Scott had raised his hand for every subject, even Potions on occasion. He’d never – however – raised his hand during a class with Binns. He’d never bothered to pay attention enough to feel the need, and in the earlier classes he’d attended he’d already known everything Binns had spoken about.

Scott waited patiently, his arm unwaveringly held firm. After a full minute, Binns’ attention was finally caught by the lone appendage; a buoy in a sea of uninterested faces. He gazed at Scott amazedly, as though he’d never before seen a child in his unlife.

“Yes, Cartwright?” Binns wheezed.

“Would you be able to explain the outcome of the duel between Emeric and Egbert for me?” Scott asked curiously. “It’s just that I read that at the time Egbert was quoted as saying: “Swá ic copiecopiġe sé Ƿand orgilde Ealdorlegu” which I think translates to “So I purloin the Wand of Destiny.” Is it normally held by historians that this may have been a genuine claim by Egbert, or is it the ravings of a megalomaniac?”

Binns blinked several times. The rest of the class seemed quite astonished, especially at the Anglo-Saxon that he’d quoted perfectly.

“Well,” Binns said, coming back to himself (though not corporeally), “historians have long been divided over whether or not such an artefact found its way into the hands of Emeric the Evil in the first place. Most history books skim over that detail, as most sources on the subject only arose decades after both wizard’s deaths, and primarily in fanciful prose from the era. But to discard Egbert’s assertion that he held what was believed to be the so-called ‘Wand of Destiny’ based on the idea that he was, as you say, a megalomaniac, would feel disingenuous at best.”

As he’d hoped, the class’ interest had been piqued. Most of them were watching the exchange curiously, some of them jotting down some of the points Binns had just made. But Scott knew that the engagement wouldn’t last long - he needed to keep a momentum going, while still making sure important information was being conveyed.

“So if the Wand of Destiny really did exist, at least in the late twelfth century, would it maybe relate to how Emeric managed to gain an air force of six Welsh Greens? I think most dragonologists agree that the Common Welsh Green would take six years to make docile enough to even approach safely, and yet Emeric was said to have personally ridden the things after a training of four measly years?” He saw Ethan raise his eyebrows. No doubt he’d guaranteed his friend’s interest with this revelation.

“Would a powerful wand explain that fact away,” he asked, continuing his spiel, “or is there some dark magic that Emeric had that would make his Evil nickname an understatement?”

Scott continued like this for the remainder of the class, watching out of the corner of his eye as his classmates diligently took notes on the more important feats and battles that he discussed with Binns. Binns seemed somewhat confused by the endless stream of questions and ideas put forward by Scott, though each time he denied, or allowed certain theories. Scott made sure that none of the questions that he asked were too outrageous or off-topic, so as not to discourage Binns from continuing their back-and-forth.

By the end of the class, Binns had actually managed to concisely explain several events vital to understanding Emeric’s Uprising. By engaging the ghost, Scott had circumvented Binns’ usual drone and replaced it with one of polite arrest. Scott left the classroom feeling substantially happier than he had earlier that morning. As the class filed out into the corridor, Ed Carmichael accosted him.

“So how’d you do it?” the pudgy boy demanded. “Some Wit-Sharpening Potion? A Remembering Spell?”

“What?” asked Scott, nonplussed.

“Because Carter, listen, if you let me know how you’re getting your stuff, I can cut you in on-“

“What are you on about?” Scott implored him.

“Well, you can’t just have all that bouncing ‘round your head, right?” Carmichael reasoned. “All that History rubbish, I mean, who has time for it with Binns ranting on?”

“The thing is, Eddie,” Alex answered fondly, “Scott does have time for it, always.”

They had Charms class next, where Professor Flitwick informed them that today they would finally begin casting the Levitation Charm that they’d been studying ever since they’d moved on from Wand-Lighting. The classroom was filled with a cacophony of voices crying “Wingardium Leviosa!” with varying levels of success. Predictably, Scott’s feather found its way into the air first. Flitwick finished awarding him house points, a crackling pop emanated from Ethan’s wand and his own feather suddenly caught fire.

“I just wish I knew why!” Ethan pouted later, on their way to lunch. They were all still uncertain as to why he seemed to have such a severe block in Charms. He didn’t struggle nearly as much in any other subject, and even exceeded Scott in some.

“You just need practice,” Alex repeated for the nth time. She had managed to levitate her own feather with this outlook, though it had taken several attempts.

“What do you do to get your Charms to work, Scott?” Ethan beseeched.

Scott thought on the question. He thought it must have something to do with how he visualised the spells. He’d read that a mixture of lateral and literal conceptualisation could be very useful in most spell models. He utilised problem-solving by weighing different approaches against one another, and realising the most effective solution from that. He supposed that he was better at applying lateral thinking than Ethan, which was why he was usually the one to answer most riddles to enter the Ravenclaw common room. It probably helped that he was very precise in his wand-movement. He had far better hand-eye-coordination than Ethan, who, despite his comically huge glasses, still failed in that regard.

He was about to explain his thinking to Ethan when Alex suddenly shot up in height by nearly a foot. He cursed, glancing down at his robes which were now too small for his now-male body. This phenomenon wasn’t common during the day, but it had occurred at least once per week.

“If you’re quick, you could run up to our dorm and throw your other robes on before lunch finishes,” Scott reminded him.

“No need,” he replied, jiggling his bag. “I remembered to bring my replacements today. I’ll see you in a minute.” He dashed off for the closest bathroom as Professor McGonagall approached.

“There’s no need to run, Wroxton!” she called as the blond boy sped out of sight. She turned to face Scott, a severe expression on her face. “Carter, I understand Madam Pomfrey is looking for you. She expects you back in the hospital wing so she can finish her job.”

“Er, yes, Professor McGonagall,” Scott mumbled shamefacedly. “I’ll head there now.”

“See that you do, Carter,” she said sternly, and she strode off.

Scott looked apologetically to Ethan. “Er, I’ll meet you later if Pomfrey doesn’t murder me.”

Ethan seemed to be contemplating whether to eat food or potentially see the after effects of severe Bubo infection, but in the end decided on lunch.

* * *

Ethan made his way into the Great Hall alone, heading for the Ravenclaw table between Slytherin and Gryffindor. From behind him he heard Skeres and Pellon talking, not bothering to keep their voices down.

“Frog-boy’s all alone, where do you suppose the Mudblood’s run off to?” Skeres was saying.

“Probably realised hanging about with other weirdos was a bad idea,” Pellon said loudly.

Skeres’ distinct cackle accompanied Ethan as he sat at the long table and moodily piled Yorkshire pudding onto a plate. Cyril let out a croak from within his robes as the scent of food reached him. Obediently, he piled a large helping of sausages down his front. He glanced up to see a few girls staring at him with expressions of mixed revulsion.

“Er,” he said, his face going hot, “j-just saving s-some for later!” He laughed, though the same was high-pitched and hysterical to his ears.

“Croaker,” Sophie Fawcett directed at him, “are you aware that you... croak?”

Ethan didn’t have a response to this. He tried to keep Cyril hidden away in his robes or dorm most of them time, so people rarely caught a glimpse of the juvenile Clabbert. His toad excuse seemed to work if they did, as they never got too much of a look before he was quickly stuffing him away. He hadn’t wanted others to know about Cyril because he didn’t think he’d be an approved pet at Hogwarts. He knew exceptions were occasionally made – he’d seen a red-headed fourth-year carrying a pet rat once – but Clabberts weren’t exactly in the same ballpark as a domestic animal.

Ethan realised that he’d been staring at Sophie for a little too long, and hastened to reply. All that emerged was another croak, this one actually from him, and entirely involuntary. The girls gathered about giggling at his failed attempt at a response, which luckily disguised the loud munching sounds coming from his robes.

When Alex and Scott arrived, they thankfully sat with him, and he put his embarrassment out of mind. He hardly needed to concern them with yet more of his personal troubles. They were already trying to help him in Charms; he didn’t think they’d have any advice on how to not make people think you’re a weirdo.

* * *

The rest of the day passed peacefully, with the exception of Peeves the poltergeist’s antics. Halloween, it seemed, made the amortal entity more mischievous than ever. Scott and his friends were accosted as they walked up to the common room after Transfiguration.

“Peeves, open the door!” Scott yelled, pushing his weight against the aforementioned door. They were in a corridor in the west wing of the castle.

“But it’s All Hallows’ Eve, ickle firsties!” the poltergeist cackled. “Say Trick or Treat, and we’ll see if you can get through!”

“This is ridiculous,” Scott muttered, raising his wand. “Alohomora!”

The spell had no effect.

Peeves gave another cackle. “You won’t get through with that, silly sod! It’s not locked!”

The corridor had started to fill up with more students now. The other Ravenclaws had arrived from downstairs.

“Fine!” Alex shouted. “Trick or Treat!”

“Hmm...” Peeves pretended to think. “Trick!”

A clattering sound emanated from behind the door, and suddenly dozens of spiders flooded out from underneath it. Peeves laughed louder than ever as they frantically – with the exception of Ethan – danced around in a panicked fashion, trying to keep the arachnids from climbing up their trouser legs. Ethan was scooping up the spiders and putting them in his bag. Several of the girls who’d arrived shrieked, and Marcus Belby cried out in terror, tripping over in his haste to escape.

“Arania Exime!” called a deeper voice.

A light blasted the spiders aside, where they shrivelled up on their backs. Robert Hilliard strode forward to reach the door.

“Peeves, open this door at once, or I’ll do it myself!” he yelled furiously.

“Oooh, is that a big scary prefect?” the poltergeist jeered. “Peeves is done for now!” He cackled again.

“Sequitur Inimicum!”

A small ball of orange light was expelled from Robert’s wand, which slipped itself through the door’s keyhole. A moment later, an echoing bang erupted opposite the door and Peeves screeched furiously. They could hear him cursing loudly as he zoomed away.

“Try the door now,” suggested Robert.

Scott did so, and the door opened for him. “Thanks, Robert!” he said to the prefect.

“Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to use magic in the corridors,” he pointed out. “But Peeves needs it sometimes, today especially. He’s blocked off the broom shed as well. Poor Gryffindors just found out, and I don’t know if they can deal with many more obstacles to their chances next week.”

The Gryffindor Quidditch team were scheduled to play against Slytherin in early November, and most were of the opinion that their chances of winning were as good as zero. From what Scott had heard, Slytherin were the best team at Hogwarts; they were mostly undefeated for years now. Their Quidditch successes were what won them both the Quidditch and House Cups so often, and many were rooting for another team to win over Slytherin in anything.

A few hours later, they all gathered in the Great Hall again for the Halloween feast. The Hall was decorated with thousands of live bats that swept over their heads, screeching loudly. At times Scott wondered whether he was really hearing Skeres laughing from the Slytherin table, but a glance told him that she was too preoccupied with her dinner.

Floating jack-o’-lanterns accompanied the usual hovering candles, and a haunted organ sat up next to the staff table, where it piped ominous tunes at them. Several ghosts glided in and out of the Hall, occasionally trying to scare unsuspecting students. The food was a mixture of savoury and sweet, with mince pies, baked potatoes, roast pheasant, and steak-and-kidney pudding preceding a veritable banquet of colourful sweets and desserts that managed to outstrip anything seen at the start-of-term feast. Lemon meringue, Scottish Cranachan, and strawberry tart met cauldron cakes, clumps of candyfloss, and an enormous basin of Every Flavour Beans. Scott made sure that he’d eaten his fill of vegetables before dessert began, and by the time that the remaining food vanished from the golden plates and bowls, he felt as though he’d eaten enough to explode.

Professor Dumbledore stood, waving merrily for quiet. The room went silent as they waited for him to speak.

“Well, I think it safe to say that you are all extraordinarily full to bursting with food and drink. Perhaps we ought to leave our feast off here?” he called, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Personally, I find that I benefit from a nice sleep following so much food, and you do all have classes tomorrow.”

The Hall was cacophonous in its refutations. Cries of ‘Show! Show! Show!’ went up on all tables, and students began banging their fists on the wood. A few ghosts and portraits joined in on the chanting, though Professor Foley was the only teacher.

“A show?” Dumbledore asked with feigned surprise, barely bothering to hide a smile. “Well, I suppose there’s something we could come up with. Perhaps we teachers shall demonstrate a performance of synchronised trapeze acts?” The students all laughed uproariously, whilst the teachers looked stone-faced. “Maybe we could host a Quidditch match in the Great Hall?” Several members of the school’s house teams agreed loudly. “Ah, but these would require more preparation, I’m afraid. We’ll save them for next year, shall we?” Everyone cheered.

“I suppose that leaves just one last possible act, then,” Dumbledore announced. “Could you please welcome to Hogwarts School; singing sensation: Lorcan d’Eath!”

Scott’s jaw dropped. All at once, the countless bats that filled the Hall swarmed downward, sweeping into a great black clump. They gathered before the staff table, where a great platform had suddenly materialised. The bats continued to swarm in their thousands, the screeching reaching deafening levels. Then, a sonorous note characteristic of an electric guitar blasted from within the bat swarm, and they separated, flying in haphazard directions. As they returned to the air, a new figure was revealed standing on the platform, guitar hovering beside him.

The man was tall and deathly pale, which contrasted heavily with his black cloak. The Hall exploded with screams of excitement. Scott noticed that even Declan Haworth had stood, a look of rapturous awe donning his features. Many girls and a few boys had surged forward as d’Eath arrived, but were blocked from the platform by an invisible barrier. Suddenly, the haunted pipe organ began again, as several other enchanted instruments on the stage with the singer began to play on their own.

The music that issued forth was a melody of dark romanticism. Lorcan d’Eath, Scott knew, was a part-vampire singer, who’d found great success among adolescent girls. He quite liked the part-vampire’s music, too - it reminded him of several Muggle bands that had started in Britain, like The Cure.

“Farewell, Sanguinares!” d’Eath cried dramatically after about half an hour of music. He raised his arms as though being crucified, drawing out his long cloak. The bats that had seemingly carried him in once again swept down from above, enclosing him in their mass. They then flitted away, leaving nothing where the part-vampire had once stood. The platform and instruments vanished, and the students all returned to their seats after finishing their chorus of clapping.

Dumbledore stood again. “Well, that was excellent,” he declared. “Thank you to the fantastic Lorcan d’Eath, and to the Board of Governors for providing the funding for such an extravagance. We rather thought you could all do with a treat this year. But I think we’ve all had quite enough excitement for the evening. You ought to all head off to your common rooms now!”

They were still discussing the surprise appearance of the artist when they reached the Ravenclaw common room. Alex had announced that he was in love, and Scott had passionately explained the musical techniques that d’Eath had utilised in the song ‘Your Love Leaks from You’. Ethan had wanted to discuss how exactly a part-vampire’s powers related to a full-blooded creature of the night, but was constantly drowned out by the girls’ loud giggling. Eventually, they all left the common room and headed for bed.

* * *

Ethan awoke to darkness. He wasn’t sure why he’d been jarred from his sleep, which had involved a dream about a Graphorn, a goblin, and a fistful of Galleons. He glanced over to see if Cyril was the perpetrator, but saw that he hadn’t made a sound. The Clabbert was, however, awake, and he looked terrified. The red pustule on his head pulsed with an ominous glow as he stared at the blue curtains.

For some odd reason, Ethan didn’t much feel like asking what was wrong - he didn’t feel like speaking at all. Slowly, against his better judgement, he drew his bed curtain aside. The room was dark and cold, and utterly silent. Nothing moved, but he felt as though there was something there regardless. He could barely see through the oppressive darkness, and his lack of glasses didn’t help.

A shadow on the wall seemed to shift, and Ethan held his breath. He hadn’t been afraid of the dark for years, but now his fear seemed to come back in full force. He wasn’t sure why he felt as he did, but it was as though he sensed something dark in the room with him. He could just make out the curtain to Declan Haworth’s bed shift aside, and then return to normal. The edgy feeling that had pervaded the room subsided then, and Ethan lay back in his bed, his heart hammering against his chest. What the hell had that been?


	11. The Seasons Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Say It's Only a Game, But Fans Know This Isn't True. "It's An Art," They Say, "Did You See How They Flew?"

**The Seasons Beginning**

“And you’re sure they’re going to come?”

Scott and Ethan were crouched down, concealed behind the large marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw in the common room. At present, Scott was peeking out from behind her pedestal, scanning for movement.

“I’m certain,” Ethan asserted firmly.

“But ‘Hogwarts; A History’ never mentions them, not once!” Scott insisted.

“Believe me, they’re here,” Ethan assured him. “Cyril nearly scared them half to death the other night when they were trying to tidy up. I think he thought they were food.”

The sun hadn’t yet shone its rays through the arched glass of the common room, though it would be hard to tell if it had – ever since November had begun, a near-constant downpour had assailed the castle. Even now, the distinct pattern of rain drops trickled down the dark windows that hadn’t been covered with silk curtains.

“But surely they’d have arrived by now?”

“They might’ve been held up,” Ethan suggested. “Peeves has been in a right state since Halloween. Didn’t like being shown up by those Gryffindor twins.”

Apparently, the aforementioned twins had flooded a third floor bathroom, which had nearly set back the archaeological excavation that had begun in a nearby corridor. Just as Scott was stewing on the foolish actions of the Gryffindors, he heard a distinct _pop._ He quickly shook Ethan, and pointed.

Standing in the middle of the common room was a tiny creature with large, bat-like ears. Its eyes were large and round, a bright hazel in colour. It wore what seemed to be a white table cloth around its torso, and nothing else. The creature clicked its fingers and the torches and fireplace suddenly ignited. A new series of pops began emerging from about the common room, and half a dozen more creatures appeared from thin air. They looked much the same as the first, though with very subtle differences. They all set about doing tasks; cleaning and sweeping. They adjusted cushions, wiped windows, brushed dust of the mantle, and tidied the room to make it look perfectly pristine.

Scott suddenly stood and emerged from behind the statue. The creatures all looked up in fright as he appeared, stopping their movements immediately.

“Don’t worry,” Scott said gently. “I just wanted to say hello to you all. I’m Scott.”

“And I’m Ethan,” his bespectacled friend said, emerging too. “You probably remember me and Cyril from Tuesday night.”

The creatures nodded nervously, glancing at the frog-monkey perched on Ethan’s shoulder. These diminutive beings were called House-Elves, and were a race of creatures that had long been enslaved by wizardkind. Scott had only seen a few elves before, mostly when he went overseas with his mother. She, of course, entirely refused to have a house elf anywhere near their house. Her issue wasn’t with the elves themselves, however, but with the concept of owning a servile sapient that was forced to do another’s being. Scott had heard long rants at the dinner table about her latest disagreement with the now-ex-Minister for Magic on the subject, and from the things she said, he was often surprised she’d maintained her job for as long as she had.

“We’s is not minding students out of bed, sirs!” piped the first elf to arrive, which Scott guessed was a girl. “Though, if you is not minding, maybe keep the monster away?” she added fretfully.

“Right,” Ethan said apologetically, grabbing Cyril and stuffing him down his bright turquoise pyjama shirt.

“So, do you clean and cook for all the students?” Scott asked curiously.

The elves all nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir!” the girl elf squeaked. “And deliver presents for birthdays and Christmas! And bring luggage from the train! And serve at special occasions! And lots more!”

“Do any of you know why you aren’t mentioned in any history texts?” he asked hopefully.

They looked confused. The elf girl spoke again. “I don’t know if any of we’s has read anything like you say. We house elfs have served Hogwarts for centuries, though!” she announced proudly.

“Strange,” Scott pondered. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Bonnie is honoured that Scott Carter has asked our name, sir!” she cried happily, bowing low.

Vaguely remembering a few things his mother had mentioned about house elves’ eagerness to please, he suddenly felt slightly uncomfortable. He also wasn’t entirely sure how the elf knew his last name when he’d never told her, but he shrugged it off.

“Well, Bonnie, it’s our friend’s birthday today, and we were hoping to surprise them with a few things,” he said to her. “Would you happen to have some presents for an Alexis Wroxton?”

“Yes, sir!” she exclaimed. “Would sirs like to surprise their friend with presents?”

“Yes, please, Bonnie. And if you wouldn’t mind, I think it’d be nice if Alex got some breakfast in bed. Could you do some pancakes, with a full choice of toppings?”

“Sir is so kind to his friend!” the elf cried rapturously. “Of course we’s can get a nice breakfast ready!” She snapped her fingers again, and a small collection of wrapped packages appeared on the floor in front of her.

“Thanks, Bonnie,” Ethan said, scooping up the presents.

Bonnie then vanished on the spot, no doubt to begin the meal they’d asked for. Ethan handed Scott the presents that he’d picked up.

“I’ll just go up and grab my presents. You wait here till Bonnie gets back with that breakfast.”

He zoomed off up the stairs to his own dorm, while Scott waited with the house elves who were still working away. A few were scrubbing Ravenclaw’s statue, humming quietly as they did so. Eventually, Ethan returned, his own present in his arms. At that precise moment, Bonnie returned, balancing two trays.

“Pumpkin juice and pancakes, sirs!” she announced.

“Thanks, Bonnie!” Scott grinned, passing the presents back into Ethan’s arms and taking the trays from the elf.

She bowed, and disappeared again, along with the other elves. They headed back up the stairs, and stopped just outside Dorm 12.

“I’ll poke my head in first, if you’re worried,” Scott teased.

“That might be best, actually,” Ethan mumbled awkwardly.

He needn’t have worried, however, as Alex was still fast asleep, and not in any compromising situations – or at least, none embarrassing.

“All clear,” Scott whispered as he crept inside.

Ethan followed just as quietly, tip-toeing over to Alex’s bed, the curtains of which were blocking their friend from view. Scott slowly pulled the blue material back, revealing a blond figure – definitely masculine today – covered in blankets. He mouthed the words ‘On three’ and began to count down silently. When he reached the third number they both let belt Alex’s wake-up call.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“Wuzzgoinon?” came Alex’s sleepy voice.

“C’mon, get up, lazy bones! You’ve got presents and breakfast!” Scott bellowed.

Alex sat up slowly, blinking blearily at them. “What time is it?” he asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Time for presents!” Ethan answered.

“What’s that?” Alex asked, pointing at the trays in Scott’s arms.

“Breakfast in bed,” Scott informed him.

“Wow, thanks!” Alex said, all tiredness suddenly forgotten.

“All Ethan’s idea,” Scott grinned. “We got your presents, too.”

Ethan placed Alex’s gifts at the foot of his bed, while Scott handed the trays to Alex. They both had wiry legs that let them sit above chest height. Alex poured himself a pumpkin juice and set about happily eating his pancakes.

Ethan was examining the wrapped packages. “Your parents didn’t really get you that many presents, huh?” he observed.

Alex’s face went bright red, and Scott smacked Ethan’s arm furiously. Ethan had the unfortunate habit of saying tactless things without realising. Evidently Ethan realised that he’d said something callous, and quickly stuttered a follow-up. “Er, w-which is all the better, I’m sure. I m-mean, I definitely wouldn’t want too many presents, myself.”

Scott didn’t think he was helping matters much, but Alex was smiling indulgently at Ethan. “Well, Christmas is coming up,” he said. “I bet they’ll have plenty for me around then.”

Leaping at the opportunity to veer the subject away, Scott spoke up. “It’s annoying having your birthday so close to Christmas, eh?” he chuckled. “I’m in January. Means things get a bit split up.”

After Alex had finished eating, he set about opening his presents. He opened the ones from his family first. His aunt and uncle had given him a twenty pound note and a card wishing him well, and his parents had sent plenty of new boys’ and girls’ clothes as well as a Rubik’s Cube. They’d attached a card, too, which Alex smiled as he read. Next he started on their presents. Ethan had gotten him a Remembrall to remind him about overdue assignments (“You don’t want McGonagall to give you a detention, do you?”) and a magical jigsaw puzzle that whenever it was completed shifted into a new puzzle. Scott had gotten him a book called ‘Quidditch through the Ages’, which he’d promised was exceptionally interesting, as well as a bulk package of Chocolate Frogs (“You really need to get your card collection up to scratch.”).

Eventually, hints of the sun began to creep through the window panes, and a knocking met their ears.

“Is everybody decent?” Cho Chang’s voice asked from the other side of the door.

Ethan instinctively tensed up, and Scott snorted.

“You’re good!” Alex called.

The door opened and Cho and the other girls stepped in. They all chorused a “Happy birthday!” and leaped forward to hug Alex. When the girls proceeded to hand their own gifts over, Scott stood and stretched theatrically.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” he announced, “but I think I’ll go for a good workout, now.” He squeezed past the girls, winking at them. Alex rolled his eyes as a few girls giggled. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said to Alex. “Make sure you bring an umbrella later. Wouldn’t want a bit of rain to ruin your first Quidditch match.”

He left, Ethan’s voice carrying as he headed down the spiral stairs. “Uh,” he heard him stammer, “I’ll go, er, do some working out- I, um, m-mean working- uh, as well.”

Before eleven o’clock, the entire school began to crowd toward the Quidditch Pitch on the grounds. The ominous grey clouds seemed to spell doom for the Gryffindor team’s chances, the odds of which had most betting on a Slytherin win. Scott had had Eddie Carmichael attempt to lure him into a wager with the prospect of Gryffindor winning.

“Look at it this way, Carter,” he’d reasoned. “Gryffindor’s got four new players this year, so no-one’s got a clue what they’re like on the field. But two of ‘em are brothers of the Captain, who’s supposed to be a damn good Seeker. I think the odds actually stack up to mean that the Lions could bring out a surprise win over Slytherin today. So how about it, eh?”

Scott had respectfully refused. He didn’t carry money around with him these days if he could help it, still sore over the true identities of Wizarding coins. He found a row of seats along the top of the stands, where the Ravenclaw first-years all sat. They awaited the commentator’s voice, which soon came from the tall tower-like pedestal off-side from the pitch.

“Welcome to the first match of this season’s Hogwarts Inter-House Quidditch Championship!” roared a voice from the pedestal. Scott could just make out a dreadlocked boy sitting alone. “My name is Lee Jordan, and I will be commentating on this match. First off in the season, we have Slytherin versus Gryffindor!”

A great tumult of cheers went up on all sides, mostly from the relevant houses.

“Here comes the Slytherin team! We have Flint, Newman, Inglewood, Bakshi, McCleary, Killian, and Keene! They’ve been lucky in previous years, but hopefully that streak of theirs breaks today!”

The Slytherins in the stands booed his proclamation loudly as the Slytherin team made their way to the centre of the pitch. They were all very tall - even the youngest of them, Flint, was remarkably large. There was only one girl on the team, Inglewood.

“Everyone welcome the Gryffindor team! Olivier, Mumford, Johnson, Wood, Weasley, Weasley, and Weasley!” The scarlet-robed group of seven gathered opposite the green. Among their number were three stocky redheads, one taller than the other two. “Unlike the Slytherins, Charlie Weasley’s gotten some new blood this year,” Lee Jordan was saying. “Those twins may be daft, but I know they can pack a mean punch!” The identical pair of redheads grinned and made rude hand gestures at the commentator’s podium. “The Slytherins had better watch themselves today!”

Scott watched as the taller Weasley shook hands with Keene. Though he was quite a distance away, it looked more as though they were attempting to injure one another than showing respect. They mounted their brooms and Madam Hooch, who was refereeing, blew her whistle.

“And they’re off!” Lee shouted. “Slytherin in possession of the Quaffle as Flint streaks up the pitch, intercepted by Mumford, who takes it and passes it to - shit!”

The Slytherins whooped as Inglewood snatched the large red ball from Johnson’s fingertips, darting up the pitch to the trio of towering gold poles affixed with hoops.

“Inglewood heads up to Gryffindor goals, dodges Olivier, dodges Weasley’s Bludger.” The iron cannonball went soaring by, narrowly avoiding the pursuing Mumford. “Inglewood lines up to score, can she do it? Let’s hope not! And...”

Wood, the Gryffindor Keeper, narrowly deflected the oncoming Quaffle to cheers and applause from the Gryffindor stands. Alex leaned over to talk to Scott as play continued.

“So the Chasers,” he asked, “they throw the Quaffle through the hoops to score points, sort of like in basketball, right?”

Scott nodded. “And the Beaters hit the Bludgers with their bats,” he said, as Killian pelted one of the balls at a Gryffindor Chaser.

“Nuttiest position on the team, if you ask me,” Ethan spoke up, having not been watching the game.

“I disagree,” Scott argued. “The best offence is the best defence, and vice versa. I’d rather have a weapon to smack a Bludger than be the one getting smacked by them.”

“Those are scary looking things, though,” Alex said worriedly as a Bludger careened off Mumford’s torso. “Has anyone ever died from them?”

“You’ll find the answer to that and much more in that book I got you,” Scott smiled evasively.

Alex glanced around at the figures zooming about on broomsticks. “And they’re the Seekers?” he asked, pointing to Keene and Weasley. “They catch the Snitch, right?”

“Yep, the Snitch ends the game and gives the team that caught it an extra one hundred and fifty points,” Scott informed him as Slytherin scored a goal.

Ethan scoffed. “Which is ridiculous, really. I mean, if you catch the Snitch, you’ve won regardless of any Chasers scoring. So why not just have the game be a broom race to the Snitch, or get rid of the Seeker position altogether?”

“Because Seekers take ages to catch the Snitch,” Scott grumbled, repeating the same old argument he’d had with Ethan on the subject a hundred times before. “No-one wants to watch two numpties play ‘I Spy’ for an hour. So maybe you add Beaters to make it interesting? But if Beaters were always focused on the Seekers, no-one would ever catch the bloody Snitch, would they?”

“So the other players keep the game interesting for the audience, and keep the Beaters’ attention split,” Alex said, catching on. “I’ll bet the Snitch is worth so much for the drama?”

“Among other things,” Scott concurred. “’Quidditch through the Ages’ talks about it pretty in-depth.”

“I still think it’s dumb,” Ethan sulked.

The game was still being played an hour and a half later. Slytherin were beating Gryffindor by a decent amount; a full fifty points. The Seekers on both sides had spotted the fluttering gold ball that was the Snitch a number of times, but every time they dived to catch it, a Bludger was launched their way, preventing the game’s end. Scott thought that Gryffindor would be better off if their new players were better trained, but he couldn’t hold them accountable for that – it was only the first match of the season. Their real issue was the communication between their Chasers. Individually, they were fairly stellar players, but as a unit; they struggled. As a result, they had been stuck at eighty points for nearly twenty minutes.

“Who’s a better Seeker, do you reckon?” Alex asked Scott, having become more and more engrossed in the game as time ticked by.

“Weasley, for sure,” Scott answered confidently.

“Really?” Alex questioned sceptically. “Keene’s way faster, though.”

“Keene’s on a Cleansweep Seven. Best broom on the market, despite what Comet and Nimbus claims. Weasley’s stuck with the Cleansweep Five, and yet he’s still a danger to Keene’s chances. And he pulled off a fantastic Sloth Grip Roll before.”

“Everyone uses their own broomsticks?” Alex asked, palpably befuddled.

“Yeah, see, Johnson’s got a Cleansweep Six, McCleary’s on a Comet 260, the Weasley twins are on Cleansweep Fives, too,” Scott said, pointing each of them out.

“But surely they should be regulated?” Alex demanded. “Wouldn’t people who can afford better brooms win every time?”

Scott thought on this, and then nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. I’m not sure why that’s allowed, frankly.”

“Because Quidditch is stupid?” Ethan added helpfully.

Scott’s retort was cut short by Gryffindor scoring. The deafening roar of the crowd that accompanied the boost in points suddenly escalated as the two Seekers went speeding along after a tiny golden glint.

“Weasley and Keene both chasing the Snitch!” Lee Jordan was screaming. “Keene gaining on Weasley, Keene passes Weasley, no, come on, Charlie -- BUGGERING HELL!”

Keene swooped upwards, his fist clutched tightly around the Snitch. The Slytherins all screamed and shouted, stamping their feet and leaping about. Scott could just barely see the tiny figure of Scarlett Skeres jumping up and down, only her head visible over the students in front.

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs all applauded politely as the Slytherins celebrated loudly. The Gryffindors began to leave dejectedly. Eddie Carmichael was being handed a few silver Sickles by Belby, who he’d apparently managed to dupe into his bet.

“Brilliant,” Carmichael said, grinning as he stuffed the coins away.

Scott tried not to think about the silver’s origins.

* * *

November seemed to pass in no time at all. The rain that had dominated their days eventually began to let up as the second match of the Quidditch season approached. Scott remained the top of the class in most subjects, and had managed to transform their joined History of Magic lessons with Hufflepuff into something that actually merited interest. Scott’s commandeering of the subject had meant that the class now paid the proper degree of attention that would lead to better marks. Indeed, he’d received several words of thanks from his classmates following the arrival of their essay marks. Their class mean had managed to elevate to an impressive ninety point four percent, though Scott’s marks had skewed the result slightly.

The air seemed to have become far colder as winter crept closer. Scott’s morning workouts were now met with icy frost coating the grassy grounds, rather than torrential downpour. His detentions with Skeres had ended; meaning he only had to suffer her in Flying and Potions. Her arrogance had increased since Slytherin’s success, and she now spent much of her time attempting to show off whenever they were on broomsticks. Alex’s own flying was improving drastically. In their most recent class, they had performed a spectacular dive, and promptly come out of it in perfect form. Even Madam Hooch had been impressed.

Since the match, Scott had been spending a great deal of time immersing Alex in Quidditch. The Wizarding Wireless radio that sat in the common room gave live running commentary on Quidditch matches, and they’d often sit in front of it and listen. Scott had been attempting to convince them to support the Wimbourne Wasps, though Alex had insisted on getting to know the other teams first. Ethan did not approve of the inundation of Quidditch, and frequently scolded Scott for “brainwashing poor Alex” into “stupid hobbies”.

In late November, the day of Ravenclaw’s first match arrived. They were playing against Hufflepuff, who most agreed were likely to come last in the Championship. Ravenclaw weren’t known for their sporting skills either, however, so the matchup was predicted to be fairly even.

For the second time that month, the school gathered around the stands of the Quidditch Pitch, though the atmosphere was subtly different, Scott felt. The Gryffindor-Slytherin game had been tense, and laced with dread or anticipation - it had been exciting in a dramatic way. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, however, didn’t normally hold grudges against one another as their counterparts did. Inter-house tension existed, to be sure, but it was a friendly rivalry at most. By the end of the match between the houses, however, such presumptions were proven to be wrong.

The game had started normally. The Ravenclaw Captain, Valerian, had shaken hands with Miller of Hufflepuff. Hooch had blown her whistle. And then Harris, one of the Ravenclaw Beaters, had smacked a Bludger at the Hufflepuff Keeper before he’d even made a move for the goalposts. This had constituted a Quidditch foul, and Hufflepuff had begun with a penalty shot, which they succeeded in putting through.

This behaviour of Harris’ was mirrored in his Beating counterpart, Hutchens, who very aggressively focused the brunt of his attacks at the Hufflepuff Keeper. Why the Keeper, a boy by the name of Goldsmith, was being targeted in such a manner was anyone’s guess, but Valerian had evidently decided that enough was enough and called for time-out. Whilst Harris and Hutchens had been belting away at Hufflepuff’s Keeper, the yellow-clad team had put through four goals. Scott could see, but not hear, the two boys being yelled at by the shorter boy who was their captain. They eventually took to the air again, each of them red-faced in fury.

The rest of the match continued in a seemingly normal fashion. Hufflepuff had been given a head-start, and were a few goals ahead, but Ravenclaw began to catch them up. After two hours of play, both teams had managed to become neck-and-neck with twelve goals each. Miller was streaking up the field with the Quaffle clutched firmly in her grip, a determined glint in her eye, when suddenly a second glint joined it. The glint zoomed by her face, and she suddenly stopped dead, watching the Snitch speed away.

Lee Jordan was screaming into his megaphone as both Seekers shot by Miller, and moments later, the Hufflepuff stands were cheering victoriously. Scott swore loudly as the Ravenclaw team descended to the earth, crestfallen. One member of the Ravenclaw team hadn’t landed, however. Hutchens sped across the pitch, his broomstick taking him straight for the goalposts, which was where the Hufflepuffs had gathered in a mid-air embrace. The Hufflepuff spectators cried out in warning, but were too late. Hutchens’ wand was out and pointed at Goldsmith. His next words were somehow loud enough that Scott could hear them from his section of the stands.

“This is for stealing Harris’ girl, you rat-faced bastard! _Stupefy!_ ”

Goldsmith was falling, falling. The Hufflepuff Seeker dived to catch him, grabbing his robes by the hem. Goldsmith’s weight was too much for the Seeker, however, and they both went tumbling down onto the grassy lawn below. Scott wasn’t sure if he imagined the crunch as the two bodies heavily collided with the ground, but he knew that neither of them would be getting up from that very soon.

* * *

The Ravenclaws were gathered in their common room, a sense of gloom hanging over them. They’d lost their first game by a hundred and fifty points, and been publically humiliated by one of their own. Neither Valerian, nor the Beaters had shown their faces, but the other members of the team had returned. According to the Seeker, Harris and Hutchens had both been removed from the team, potentially indefinitely. This piece of information had brought a great deal of anxiety to the cohort, as they had no reserve Beaters, and none of the reserve players that they did have seemed to want to take up the roles left behind.

Much discussion was had over the reasons behind the behaviour from the two Beaters, and the accepted theory was that Harris had been broken up with by his girlfriend, who had left him to be with Goldsmith. Harris and his friend clearly hadn’t taken this development very well, and had brought their personal issues onto the pitch, thus jeopardising Ravenclaw’s win. If Hufflepuff hadn’t been fifty points ahead so early in the game, and Ravenclaw’s Beaters more focused throughout, the match could have gone very differently.

As the hours slogged by, snow began to fall outside the window, the chill driving many of Scott’s housemates from the common room. Ethan had wandered off, muttering something about feeding Cyril. Even he had been negatively affected by the loss, despite all of his claims that Quidditch was a waste of time. Scott and Alex were lying back on a blue chaise lounge in the common room, stewing on the day’s events.

“How do you think Goldmsith and the Hufflepuff Seeker are doing?” Alex pondered.

“I think Diggory’s already out of the hospital wing, but Goldsmith didn’t do too well. He’ll probably be in till tomorrow.”

“Diggory?” Alex asked, her eyes squinting in thought.

“The pretty boy,” Scott elaborated. “About my height, second year?”

“Oh, yeah, I get you now.”

“If I cared even a little,” Scott smirked, “I’d be more worried about Harris and Hutchens.”

Alex snickered. “Did you hear that one of our Chasers was planning to get them both with Bat-Bogey Hexes?”

“They’ll have to get in line behind the Hufflepuffs,” Scott chuckled. “They are not happy.”

They subsided into contemplative silence. “It’s bad news, though,” she said quietly, looking at Scott. “Ravenclaw play next, right?”

“Yeah, in February,” Scott confirmed, not looking at all pleased. “Slytherin are going to flatten us. Do you think anyone will notice if we make Skeres disappear beforehand?” he asked hopefully.

“Pellon might,” Alex reasoned. “D’you think they’re an item?”

Scott shuddered at the thought. “I’d rather keep to Quidditch, thanks,” he muttered. Making sure not to think about his two least favourite people snogging, he considered Ravenclaw’s options going forward. “I wonder when they’ll open tryouts for new Beaters,” he wondered. “I’d try out if I could have my broom here, but...”

Alex was watching him, her face alit with excitement, as though struck with inspiration. “Scott, that’s it!” she exclaimed eagerly. “What if we both tried out?”

Scott blinked at her owlishly. “First years can’t have brooms at school, though, Alex,” he said doubtfully. “There’s not been a first year on a team for ages.”

“But it’s happened before?” Alex pressed.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Er, yeah, the last was in eighteen-ninety-”

“You said yourself that we were the best two fliers in our class,” she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “I was just trying to rile up Skeres. Besides, there’s bound to be plenty of older students with brooms who’re better.”

“I remember you saying that Weasley was a better flier despite his broom,” Alex insisted. “Maybe Valerian will see that in us!”

“Look where that got Weasley, though!” Scott argued. “Last place for the Cup!”

Alex didn’t seem to acquiesce to his points; instead she just seemed more excited. “Listen, why don’t we just see what happens?” she asked. “If we’re not good enough, we don’t get in. But imagine if we did?”

“I don’t care about imagining it, I’m telling you, there’s no point!” Scott shouted. He was starting to get frustrated now. Why couldn’t she just accept that it was foolish to try if there was no chance they’d succeed?

“Scott, come on, please?” she simpered winningly. “You won’t be alone. I’m sure you’ll look way better than me. I’ve never even held a Beater’s bat before.”

Scott looked at her for a while. Her face was shining with optimism. He had to admit, it was infectious. He sighed theatrically, shaking his head. “If we do this –”

She cheered, hugging him tightly. “Ha! I knew you’d give in eventually!”

“I haven’t finished,” he chided. “If we do this, I want to make a few things crystal clear.”

She let go, leaning back and giving him her full attention.

“If I commit to something, I don’t go with half-measures. I’ll be dedicating myself to this completely. But,” he said, fixing her with a serious look, “you are going to have to commit to this, too. We get up at five forty-five every morning except Wednesdays, and we go through the paces, come sleet or snow. And,” his look became even sterner, “no more of these sugary foods at meals. We need nutrients, not rubbish.”

“You done?” Alex asked, grinning.

“We start tomorrow morning,” he continued doggedly, ignoring her. “Make sure you get enough sleep - I’ll be checking.”

“And how will you check if you’re asleep?” she teased, smirking.

He tried desperately to keep the answering grin off his face.


	12. More Questions than Answers

**More Questions than Answers**

" _They told him 'Don't you ever come around here_

_Don't want to see your face, you better disappear.'"_

Alex's face was red with exertion. The chill that swept across the frigid lawn - the grass of which was coated in snow – hardly registered through the warmth of his workout.

" _The fire's in their eyes and their words are really clear_

_So beat it, just beat it!"_

He bounced up and down as the shrubs and trees rushed past, his arms straining as the dumbbells he clutched went up and down over his head. His legs and core worked furiously to stay balanced on the precarious seat upon which he was sat. He looked down at the golden-brown head of hair situated between his thighs, and the heavy gusts of misty breath blowing from a mouth that panted furiously.

" _You better run, you better do what you can_

_Don't wanna see no blood, don't be a macho man."_

Alex pumped his arms, up then down, up then down. Scott continued running, barely slowed by the ninety-ish pounds of person perched upon his shoulders.

" _You wanna be tough, better do what you can_

_So beat it, but you wanna be bad!"_

Scott's shoulders were broad enough to accommodate him, though he didn't know whether his friend could withstand another lap of the lake. He hadn't had to support Scott on his shoulders once in all of their exercises, and Alex didn't envy his friend for continuing to do it now.

" _Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it_

_No one wants to be defeated!_

_Showin' how funky and strong is your fight_

_It doesn't matter who's wrong or right_

_Just beat it."_

Finally, Scott began to slow as they passed a large beech tree beside the lake, near the foot of the castle. He lowered himself carefully, allowing Alex to climb off. After Alex had alleviated some of the pressure, he pulled a large thermos from his backpack and began to drink greedily from it. Alex went and leaned against the beech tree, trying to catch his breath.

Scott came over after draining the last of the thermos, still breathing heavily. "I think that's all for today," he panted. "We'll head up for breakfast now. I think we're good for tomorrow."

"Are we going to do this tomorrow morning, too?"

Scott shook his head. "Nah, better to keep as much energy as we can for the afternoon," he said.

It was only two days before the Christmas holidays began, and both Scott and Alex had spent the past three weeks working at maintaining a healthy regime out exercise and eating. Scott had stressed the importance of focusing on 'concentric techniques', the explanations given thereof befuddling Alex. Regardless, they'd kept up their workouts, varying the practices on a day-to-day basis so as not to overwork certain areas of the body.

During their practicing, Scott had taken to levitating weights and flinging them at Alex, simulating the behaviour of a Bludger on the attack. He'd so far passed the tests by carrying the battered Beater's bat that Scott had had delivered from his home, reacting quickly to the heavy hunks of metal by smacking them away. They'd had a few close calls when Alex had deflected the weights back at Scott, who had been forced to dodge swiftly out of the way, narrowly avoiding losing several teeth.

In the weeks that had passed, Alex had noticed a slight change to both physiques – boy and girl. After being assured by Scott that the change hadn't been due to swelling from muscle strain, Alex had very excitedly proclaimed themself 'buff'. Scott had - quite unnecessarily, Alex thought - reminded them that an extra centimetre or two of muscle didn't exactly constitute ripped.

They were making their way back into the castle now, headed for the Great Hall to the right of the Entrance Hall. A thought had occurred to Alex that made him feel slightly anxious.

"Er, Scott?" he asked as they entered the hall, breathing in the myriad scents of eggs, toast, and sausages.

"Yeah?"

"Well, if I'm not a guy tomorrow, do you think it'll hurt my chances at all?"

They sat down at the Ravenclaw table. Ethan hadn't come down yet, though it was a weekend; he was likely sleeping in. Scott watched Alex for a while, a contemplative look on his face.

"You managed some pretty impressive exercises as a girl, mate," Scott assured him. "And there's been plenty of brilliant Beaters who've been girls. I mean, you've listened to the Holyhead Harpies play."

"I'm not Gwenog Jones," he mumbled anxiously.

Scott raised his eyebrows. "Alex, this was your idea. Don't get cold feet now after we've made so much progress."

Alex didn't respond, instead poking moodily at his yoghurt.

Scott sighed. "You're still sure you don't have control over your Metamorphosing? Because if you're that worried, maybe you should... I dunno, grow yourself some giant biceps or summat."

He shook his head. "No, it just happens by itself. Sometimes I can guess when it's going to happen, but I can't force it to do what I want."

Scott hummed, his face showing that he was deep in thought. "Well, maybe you can get a read on what that means," he suggested. "And by read, I mean literally – in a book. We'll head up to the library next, see if we can't find a solution."

That was Scott's usual answer to understanding most things; read a book. Somehow, he doubted that the answers he needed were hidden in some old tome, but Scott liked to feel like he was making progress by doing something, so he wasn't about to decline.

As breakfast progressed, Ethan eventually joined them.

"Well, if it isn't the Two Stooges," Ethan observed. "Been enjoying your pain games?"

"There's Three Stooges," Scott pointed out. "Which makes you the third. What took you so long?"

Ethan rolled his eyes, grinning. "I was just checking up on Cyril. Making sure he's warm, but not too warm. I don't want to mess with his hibernation."

Ethan spent the rest of breakfast piling some of the least healthy foods onto his plate, which were coincidentally some of the most flavoursome. He tore into his breakfast with open relish, casting sly glances in their direction as he ate. Their food was fine, but Alex couldn't help missing some of the less healthy options Hogwarts provided.

As he had suspected, Alex found no solutions to the block he was facing regarding his Metamorphosing. The books that described the abilities of Metamorphmagi sometimes vaguely mentioned emotional stress and trauma interfering with the ability. These instances, however, normally mentioned that the ability to alter forms was inhibited entirely, rather than uncontrollable. They came to the conclusion that Metamorphosing had to be worked at as one grew, and that complete control wasn't expected until later in life. The issue with this conclusion was that Alex wasn't sure how one could go about working at their abilities in the first place. In the end, he left the library with more questions than answers, and no solution to the potential problems he might face at tryouts the following afternoon.

* * *

Scott awoke to his curtains being pulled back. The room was pitch black, but he could see Alex's blond hair through the darkness.

"We aren't doing our exercises this morning, Alex," Scott muttered sleepily. "Go back to sleep."

"Scott, I think it's going to happen," Alex's voice came through the darkness. He sounded panicked.

Scott squinted through the darkness up at the blond looming over him, and incanted, "Lumos." The wand on his bedside table lit up in response. His hornbeam wand had become so attuned to him that he didn't even need to touch his wand for some spells now. He sat up to look at Alex.

"You're sure?"

He nodded in response, his face wrought with worry. "I don't feel... male at the moment, or at least not fully. It's like an in between that I get sometimes."

Scott thought he could see what Alex was talking about. Upon closer inspection, Alex's hair seemed longer than it had before they'd gone to bed, and their face seemed softer.

"Er, what exactly do you want me to do about it?" Scott asked uncertainly.

"I don't know," Alex muttered. "I thought maybe if we did something masculine, I could... I dunno, ease it back a little?"

Scott glanced at his watch, which was beside his lit wand. Its hands indicated that it was a quarter past twelve.

"It's late, mate," Scott complained. "You've got all day tomorrow, surely it can wait?"

Alex sighed, crestfallen. When they'd returned to bed, and drawn the curtains back, Scott extinguished his wand with a whispered, "Nox." He felt guilty for denying his friend, but he really wasn't sure that Alex's solution was a good one. It sounded like procrastination, which he doubted would have the desired effects. He'd researched hypnosis and placebos, and he didn't think that was what Alex needed. If he was a she for the tryouts, it'd be better to get it done now, rather than have it be a problem when the actual Quidditch matches came around.

Besides, he really was tired.

The following morning confirmed Alex's fears, as she was now sporting long blonde hair, and was a few inches too small for her pyjamas, among other significant changes. She'd given Scott a frosty good morning that had matched the weather outside, but had maintained the diet that the two of them had been sticking to. Scott had repeatedly insisted that she had no need to worry, and that she'd perform perfectly. Even Ethan, who normally scorned their plans to join the Ravenclaw team, had joined in the assurances.

The three of them trooped down to the Quidditch Pitch at three thirty in the afternoon. As they entered the pitch, they saw a singular person sitting in the middle of the snowy field. Ethan turned to head up into the stands, but before he left, he turned back around to face Alex.

"Um... Good luck," he muttered, reaching forward with his spindly limbs and awkwardly hugging her.

"Thanks Ethan," she whispered.

"Where's my hug?" Scott teased, smirking.

Ethan moved towards him, his arms rising threateningly in a hugging motion. Scott sidestepped the attempted embrace, and strode onward to the centre of the pitch. Alex trailed behind him anxiously. Sitting on a fold out chair in the middle of the pitch was Ryland Valerian, a fifth year, and Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Up close, he looked weedier than he seemed during the match a few weeks prior. The rest of the pitch was entirely barren of life - the other prospective players hadn't arrived yet.

"We're a little early," Scott was murmuring. "That's good. Makes a good impression."

Valerian glanced up from a clipboard that he had clutched in his hand, taking them in briefly. "I'm assuming that you two are," he checked his clipboard, "Scott Carter and Alexis Wroxton?"

"That's us," Scott confirmed, grinning crookedly. "Before the others get here, would you like a sample of some of our flying?"

Alex gulped, and quickly gripped his hand nervously.

"No need," Valerian said flatly. "Congratulations. You're Ravenclaw's newest Beaters."

They blinked at him, and then glanced at each other, baffled. Scott wasn't entirely sure that he'd understood.

"I'm... I'm sorry, but did you say –" Alex began.

"You two are the only ones that put your names down in three weeks," Valerian interrupted. "You'll find your robes in the changing room, as well as your broomsticks and bats. Come back out when you're ready." He raised a whistle to his lips and blew hard.

Summoned by the shrill sound, four blue-robed figures trooped out onto the field, clutching broomsticks. Scott and Alex exchanged another bewildered look, but obediently headed for the changing rooms. Once they'd entered, they sat on a bench next to one another.

Alex looked dazed and confused. "Well, that was..."

"Anticlimactic?" Scott suggested, arching an eyebrow.

"Sort of makes you wonder what the point of all the training was," Alex muttered.

"Well, no point looking a gift Hippogriff in the mouth," he said. "C'mon, let's get these robes on."

They found that robes had already been set aside for them based on the sizes that they'd listed when they'd signed up for tryouts. Scott's robes were emblazoned with his name and a 12, whilst Alex's name was accompanied with an 18. After they'd changed and retrieved their equipment, they returned to the pitch where the five other players were flying through the air.

Valerian's voice called out from where he was hovering, "Team! To the ground! We've got two new members I'd like to introduce you to!"

The other members of the Ravenclaw team were a variety of ages. A seventh year was the first to land, and he approached the two of them. "Finn Mannix," he greeted. "Seeker."

"Scott Carter, Beater," he introduced cockily.

"Alex Wroxton, same," she said, less so.

A third year Keeper named Josh Grech came next, and then Anna Hope-Jenkins, a fifth year and Chaser.

"It'll be nice to have another girl on the team," she said to Alex fondly.

Alex's face went pinker than it already had in the cold. Scott guffawed.

The final player walked up to them then, and Scott was instantly struck by how attracted he was to this boy. They weren't as tall as he was, but he had a certain confident air to him that made him seem taller than he really was.

"Roger Davies," he said, shaking Scott's hand. He held his hand out for Alex to shake, but she burst into a fit of giggles, her face now bright red.

"I've got to say, Ryland," Finn Mannix said, "you got quite the wee pair. They must be the youngest in about –"

"A century," Scott supplied eagerly.

"Yes, well, necessary measures, and all," Valerian muttered. "Especially given recent changes."

Anna growled. Josh scowled. Roger frowned.

"Well, if everyone's finished introductions, I think we ought to get our final practice for the term in," Valerian sighed. "Grab your brooms, and get in the air, if you please."

They each took flight as the Captain released the balls into the air. The two Bludgers rocketed off, whistling dangerously as they went. Valerian had Scott and Alex try to keep the Bludgers off anyone that the large balls deemed worthy of assaulting. By and large, they performed quite well for their first ever practice. They didn't have any real targets to knock the Bludgers back at, but Alex managed to impress with a well-aimed hit that knocked a Bludger that had gone for Roger into another Bludger, which had been barrelling towards Finn.

Something that troubled Scott, however, was team synergy and motivation. He wasn't sure why, but the team seemed to perform as less of a team than one would expect. He thought back to the match against Hufflepuff. Sure, there'd been struggles in teamwork, but that had been due to the previous Beaters. The other players hadn't struggled too much, though they didn't even come close to Slytherin's expertise on the field. He wondered if the membership spill had demoralised the team, somewhat.

At five thirty they left the pitch with Ethan, who was wrapped in several layers of wool.

"Well done, you two," he congratulated sincerely as they walked up the snow-strewn path to the castle.

"We didn't exactly succeed at tryouts, Ethan," Alex reminded him. "No one else showed up."

"You're still technically better Beaters than anyone else in Ravenclaw," he reasoned. "And your practice was pretty good. Neither of you got a bloody nose once, which is a first for Scott, I think."

"Ha ha," Scott said dryly. "You know, I don't much fancy our chances against Slytherin in February with those brooms."

Alex grimaced her agreement. "Yes, but first years aren't allowed brooms," she pouted.

Scott shook his head, pushing the great doors to the entrance hall open. "I'll go to Professor Flitwick. He loves me. I'm sure he can talk Dumbledore into making an exception for us."

"You could ask Foley as well," Ethan said. "He's part of your fan club, too."

"Most of the teachers are, really," Alex added.

"Oh, yeah," Scott said sardonically. "Snape's President, of course."

They laughed uproariously, which was joined by a familiar shrieking cackle. They turned around, and Scott's temperament soured as he saw Skeres and Pellon coming over from the dungeons, wearing identical smirks.

"Don't think too highly of yourself, Carter. You'll hit your head on the ceiling," Skeres taunted.

"And considering this ceiling," Pellon smirked, glancing up into the towering darkness above them, "that's quite a feat."

"Oh dear, it looks like Hagrid missed a few little bastards in his last de-gnoming," Scott said, looking at the two Slytherins dispassionately.

"Can we move, Scarlett?" Pellon asked. "The smell of Mudbloods is overwhelming."

Alex and Ethan immediately clamped their hands over Scott's shoulders in case he launched himself forwards.

"Good point, Em," Skeres said, her smile predatory. "Especially with two of them dirtying up the place."

Ethan's grip on Scott's shoulder became lax as he blinked confusedly. Scott doubted that he'd ever been labelled with that slur before. Skeres and Pellon strode by them into the Great Hall, laughing vociferously as they went. Scott and the others followed some distance behind. Once they'd sat down and begun eating dinner, Alex began talking in a low voice.

"So, that word they use, Mudblood," she muttered. "It's a word they use to describe people like me, right? People who don't come from wizard families?"

Scott nodded grimly. Ethan was examining at his mashed potatoes with a conflicted expression.

"But... Skeres called Ethan a Mudblood, didn't she? But Ethan's parents are magic?"

Scott looked to Ethan, waiting to see if he'd answer. Eventually, he did.

"I... Well, yes, they are. But they weren't born into it. They were both like you – muggle-born. I was raised since birth in the wizarding world. But I think... I suppose to some people that doesn't really matter." He spoke quietly, and Scott could tell he was still very confused.

"Really, it just proves that the arguments they make are a load of dung," Scott said, parroting something his mother had once mentioned. "They always say they don't like muggle-borns because they haven't been raised with wizarding values, but it's really something more basic than that. It's a made up difference they invented because they want to feel superior to someone else, and have an excuse to do it!" He slammed his fist on the table to emphasise his point, overturning a goblet filled with pumpkin juice in the process.

A few people glanced over in alarm at the noise. Alex shrugged at them.

* * *

The platform lowered slowly, swaying only slightly as Michael glanced over the edge. One hundred feet to go. The walls were beginning to become glossy with dampness, having surpassed the water table some time ago. The light from his wand illuminated the faces of the two other members of his team on the platform with him. Suspended between them was a wooden case, within; the object that would bring them that much closer to their goal – to answers.

Michael checked again – fifty feet to go. The chains of the lift clinked noisily, echoing around the rocky walls of the hole they had tunnelled into the earth. He thought back on how privileged he was to be descending the tunnel at all, how very lucky their scans had been. The very walls of the structure below had been concealed from most magical detection through pollutant nullifiers – magic he hadn't thought possible in the Early Middle Ages. They'd only detected the structure's magical eccentricity in their scans because Hogwarts had such a distinct area of pollution. The complete void that the nullifiers had created had contrasted heavily with the millennium old field of arcana and had thus proved the presence of something buried beyond any doubt.

The lift clattered to a stop at the bottom of the pit, and Michael stepped off. A few other members of the team had been awaiting their descent at the bottom, though they didn't bother sending the platform back to the castle's third floor; the entire team had come down to observe their findings today. The entrance chamber they found themselves in hadn't been as well preserved as further down into the ruin, and much of the carvings had degraded to unrecognisable levels. This section had already been endlessly analysed, however, and so they continued down a long corridor.

The stone passage sloped downwards as it progressed, and the distinct sound of trickling water could be heard overhead. Sections of ceiling and wall that had collapsed hundreds of years prior – now cleared and no longer blocking their progress – loomed out of the gloom, taunting Michael like poorly preserved wounds in history.

Eventually, they found their way into a tall chamber. The rest of the team were milling about in here, moving quietly as though afraid to wake something ancient from its slumber. This chamber had intrigued Michael the most so far. The architecture was unlike most he had observed of the Early Middle Ages, and had clearly been aided in its construction by sophisticated magicks.

Most curious about the chamber was the ancient wooden door; perfectly preserved and sealed tight. The runes scratched into the door's face described the powerful nullifying ward that had been placed around the door. No magic spell would unseal this door. The ward had been so strong that even passive magical effects had been extinguished once in proximity. A keyhole sat beneath the silver handle, and it was this that had stalled them for many weeks.

Synthesising the required key had been an arduous process, but entirely necessary. Physical destruction of such a finely preserved specimen had been out of the question, and would have no doubt been ineffective considering the protections that they hadn't been able to detect, but theorised were in place.

Michael opened the wooden case that had been brought down with him, and careful lifted the silver key from within. He carried it over to the door, and slowly inserted it into the keyhole. He twisted, and heard a click. The door was unlocked.

Hardly daring to breathe, he pulled the door open, and stepped gingerly into the next chamber. Once he had passed the door, he tried casting a spell. "Lumos," he muttered, and the wand-tip lit up. It didn't reveal much of the chamber before him, but he had the distinct impression that it was far larger than any they had yet encountered. He scanned his immediate surroundings, but couldn't see any signs of danger.

"Clear," he breathed back to his crew. He moved cautiously forwards, as several voices behind him murmured lighting charms of their own. He wanted to get a better understanding of the chamber before disturbing it with less passive lights, and so maintained his own weaker charm.

Eventually, he managed to find a wall, upon which was carved relief art. His jaw dropped. High relief carvings of this calibre were hardly ever seen outside of Antiquity, let alone a period of history where art was expressed in a strikingly different fashion. The style he was seeing resembled far more something from Ancient Greece or perhaps a more modernistic Romanesque artwork. The presence of such a carving was an anachronism in a place that was constructed in the Early Middle Ages. He'd expected to have his questions answered, but already he was faced with far more questions than answers.

He continued to examine the wall. The immensity of the carving was boggling to his mind, and he became focused on interpreting the shapes and figures depicted in the relief. It seemed to show several witches and wizards coming together. Tendrils spiralled from their heads, from their eyes, ears and mouths. The tendrils ended in a basin that looked very familiar to Michael.

Carvings of urns or pots came next, as well as a depiction of a monumental construction project. It seemed something was interred within the construction. He kept moving along, still examining the stonework with interest.

One of the crew members called out in the darkness, "Professor, you might want to see this."

"What is it?" Michael replied, not taking his eyes from the carving. He could see what looked to be the ocean, a terrifying serpent rising from its depths. Upon a cliff face was a man shielding a woman from harm, and in his hand he clutched a head.

"Statues," the man said uncertainly.

Michael wasn't completely listening. He was looking at a scene depicting a crowd of people screaming in terror or perhaps pain. Between them was a monster; a snake-like body, folded wings, and upon its head a crown of serpents. He glanced back at the man by the sea. The myth of Perseus, then? But then... what did that have to do with this ruin?

His heart stopped when he heard it. A faint hissing, echoing in the darkness. He was about to cry out a warning when, suddenly, light burst into being in the chamber. Nearly every facet of the cavernous room was thrown into stark relief. Michael kept his eyes firmly focused on the carving.

"Whatever you do," he shouted, " _do not_ -"

He was cut off by the sounds of panicked screaming. A dozen voices cried out in terror, nearly drowning out the furious hissing that filled the chamber. Then, the screams stopped as quickly as they had started. All Michael could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, and the hissing and spitting as it came closer and closer. He gazed at the carving of the serpentine monster, and saw its eyes, murderous and inhuman. He couldn't move – it was as though he had already turned to stone. The hissing drew closer, and the sound of something sliding accompanied it. Michael wracked his brain desperately for something, for some genius idea to save him. _Think_ , he thought wildly, _think!_


	13. Merry Christmas

**Merry Christmas**

Scott wound his way through the thronging crowd of the train station, Ethan and Alex following in his wake as he cleared a way to the figures Scott had spotted. They arrived before four individuals – three adults and a nine-year old bursting with excitement.

“Scott!” the darker-skinned girl cried as she rushed forward to hug him.

He grinned, returning her embrace. “Hi Lindy,” he greeted, breaking away and facing his mother. His father was conspicuously absent, he noticed. He tried not to dwell on this too much.

“How was your term, love?” his mother asked, hugging him in turn.

“Brilliant,” he said. He glanced at Alex, and then back to her. “You’ll never believe what we’ve managed.”

“You’ve...?” His mother looked at Alex, who was smiling shyly. “Ah, you must be Alex,” she said to the blonde girl. “Beverly Carter, I’m Scott’s mum.”

“Er, pleased to meet you Mrs. Carter,” she replied.

“So what’d you do?” Lindsay asked curiously.

“You’re looking at the two newest members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team,” Scott announced grandly. “I’m youngest in a century.”

This statement had the desired effect on the two of them. Lindsay’s shrieks of excitement and his mother’s proclamations of pride met his ears, and he was about to inject an ounce of humility into the moment by mentioning that it had been Alex’s idea, when he realised that she’d been distracted by Ethan’s parents, who had suddenly engaged her in conversation.

Ethan’s parents had contributed different features to his countenance. His skinniness and green eyes were courtesy of his mother, but his comically large glasses and curly hair were all his father’s. Both were advanced in age, hardly a day over eighty.

“... The Metamorphmagus, I presume?” Ethan’s father was saying. “Yes, Ethan speaks most highly of you in his letters. The most fascinating things he says. Is it true you managed to hide your nature for over a full week?”

Ethan’s face was beet red with embarrassment. Seeing this, his mother intervened. “Leave the poor girl alone, Saul,” she chided her husband. She turned a kindly smile onto Alex. “Where are your parents, dear?”

Alex glanced around. “They should be around here... Oh!”

A blonde and brunet pair of heads approached, and Alex’s parents were revealed. They hugged their daughter as they reached her, apologising for being late.

Scott stepped forward, hand outstretched. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Scott.”

Alex’s parents raised their eyebrows, and glanced at their daughter. “A friend of yours?” her mother asked.

Alex nodded, and her parents shook Scott’s hand, introducing one another.

“Derek Wroxton,” her father greeted.

“Alice,” said her mother.

“And I’m Ethan!” said the bespectacled boy, who had separated from his parents. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, and didn’t say anything else.

“Well, we’d better be off, love,” Alex’s mother, Alice, said. “We need to catch the Tube. Say goodbye to your friends.”

“Make sure to keep the exercises going,” Scott reminded her as she hugged him. “And see if you can come up to mine just after Christmas. We need to get some practice in.”

“I know,” she sang, smiling slightly. She hugged Ethan, and exchanged plans to meet with him before term resumed. Then she hurried off with her parents.

Scott turned to face Ethan. “So, think it’s a go on the plan?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I asked my parents just now. We can do it the day after tomorrow, assuming Alex’s parents agree.”

“I’ll send them a letter tonight,” Scott said. “And I’ll let the girls know.”

The drive home felt shorter than four hours, mainly because Scott spent most of it chatting to his sister and mother. They stopped over for a fast food dinner on their way, where Scott broached the topic that had been bothering him considerably.

“So, Dad couldn’t come today?” he asked in a would-be-casual voice as he unwrapped his burger gingerly.

His mother grimaced slightly. “Yes, he’s still extremely busy. A lot of late hours recently.”

Scott nodded slowly. “Ethan’s dad seemed to manage,” he pointed out, still in the pseudo-careless tone.

His mother sighed. Scott glanced in her direction. She looked genuinely sad, and watched him pityingly. This only served to frustrate him further.

“Scott, he –”

“Wanted to be here, yeah.”

“Your father’s got a lot on his plate.”

“You’re overseas half the time, and yet you turn up to see me,” Scott continued doggedly.

“I’d like it if all of you were home more,” Lindsay chipped in through the chips she was chewing.

“I can’t, Lindy, I’ve got school,” Scott snapped.

“And your father has work,” his mother said to him, as though this settled something. “And Lindsay, swallow your food before speaking,” she added.

“I wanted to tell him about Quidditch,” Scott muttered.

“And you still can when we get home,” his mum assured gently.

But she didn’t understand. It wouldn’t be the same.

* * *

Scarlett mulled over her thoughts and feelings. She felt entirely conflicted, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether she could have tried harder, insisted despite his objections. But she hadn’t wanted to pry, or overstep his boundaries. Emile was a private person, and while it supremely frustrated her that he didn’t want to open up, she could understand. She cast her mind back to when Professor Snape had been collecting signatures for holiday departures, and she’d asked Emile to visit the manor around Christmas. He’d informed her that he would actually be staying at Hogwarts over the break, and wouldn’t be able to.

“But surely your aunt and uncle want you back for Christmas?” she’d asked incredulously.

Emile had merely shaken his head.

She’d gazed at him astonished for a while. The thought of rejecting your own blood, who you were entrusted with the care of, was bizarre to her. Emile didn’t often discuss his family, but on the rare moments he mentioned his home life, it was never to say anything positive. Apparently, his aunt and uncle were even worse than she had originally thought.

“Well, then, that settles it,” she’d announced. “You’re staying with me. We’ve got plenty of spare rooms at the manor, and my family will be happy to have you.”

Emile had blinked at her, as though trying to parse what she’d said. He’d then shaken his head vehemently. “No, no. Er, no, I don’t –”

“Oh, come on,” she’d insisted, knocking his shoulder with her own. “I’m serious, you’re more than welcome. It’s great at the manor, the food’s even better than Hogwarts’.”

“ _No._ ”

He’d spoken so firmly that she’d stared at him. “Why?”

“I don’t belong at your manor,” he’d said simply.

“What are you talking about, of course you belong at my manor,” she’d laughed. “You’d be a damn better fit than the elves.”

“Just leave it,” he’d said. “Please.”

And so she had out of respect for her friend, though that didn’t prevent her from feeling guilty.

“Winter blues?”

She glanced up at her father, who had entered the drawing room in which she sat. He had a copy of the Evening Prophet folded over his arm, and she could see an article on a new policy of Minister Fudge’s. She knew what he was talking about. She’d never liked the cold much – it always made her feel strangely empty.

“I’m just worried about a friend,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

“Pureblood?” he enquired as he sat down on a settee.

She smiled slightly. “Yes, of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Not one of the Twenty-Six, though. He’s actually from France.”

“And why are you worried?” he asked. She thought it must have been out of courtesy, as he was flicking through the Evening Prophet as he asked, but she appreciated the chance to explain.

“It’s just that he doesn’t want to tell me what the problem is. He’s not much of a communicator. And I can’t help him if he won’t tell me.”

“If he does not want you to help, why are you attempting to?” her father asked, his eyes skimming over an article.

“Well,” she said, “because I expect he’d do the same for me if I was struggling with something, wouldn’t he?”

Her father shrugged. “I couldn’t possibly say. What was this boy’s name again?”

“Emile Pellon.”

She wasn’t sure whether she imagined her father’s lip curl slightly. “Not a name I’m familiar with.”

“Well, no, I don’t think you would. His parents were from France, but they died when he was young. He lives with his aunt and uncle now.”

“Interesting,” her father said, though she wasn’t sure how this qualified as interesting. “Did you happen to discover the names of his aunt and uncle?”

“Er, no,” she replied. “I didn’t want to pry.”

He looked at her, his lips curling into a slight smile. “Would it make you feel better if you were able to find out more about this boy’s past to understand him better?”

“I... Yes,” she admitted. She thought she had an idea about what her father was saying, or offering. “But I won’t ask you to help me. If I did, that would be a complete betrayal of trust.” She cocked an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he drawled. “If I looked into this with my considerable resources, it would be entirely of my own volition.”

“And I definitely don’t want you to tell me if you find anything,” she said innocently.

Her father smiled broadly. “Why, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

Ethan looked positively green as they stepped onto the stone platform, pressing his glasses back onto his face. Torvuk’s unique piloting style didn’t agree with his friend’s constitution, and Scott could see that he was wobbling something fierce as they made their way through the tunnel to the vault. The four of them – Ethan, Torvuk, his mother, and himself – soon found themselves before the familiar figure of a Sphinx.

Ethan’s sickliness was immediately forgotten as he spotted her, and he rushed forward without thinking.

“Halt.” Her powerful voice echoed. “If you wish to pass on to this vault, you must first pass a test of the mind.”

“It’s okay, Sanura,” Scott said calmly, striding forward. “Ethan was just excited to meet you.”

“Ah, Scott Carter,” the Sphinx purred. “It is good to see you return.”

“Good to see you, too,” Scott told her sincerely. His respect for the Sphinx had risen even further in the time since he’d seen her last. Anyone who would dedicate their life to horribly killing anyone trying to trade in desecrated history automatically shot to the top of his good-books.

“Brilliant,” Ethan breathed. He bowed before the part-lioness obsequiously and said, “It’s fantastic to meet you, Sanura the Sphinx. I am Ethan Croaker, your humble servant.”

“Er, a little too much, mate,” Scott advised him. He turned back to Sanura, who was observing Ethan with a mixture of concern and amusement. “I thought you might appreciate a Christmas visit, and maybe a nice early present?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “A gift?”

He placed a pile of notes before her. “I’ve been compiling some brain-teasers I’ve heard recently. I thought you’d appreciate having a look through them.”

She crouched down and began to examine the pages with interest. “Oh, yes... oh, that’s quite good.” After a few moments, she looked back up at him with her dark eyes, smiling gratefully. “These will do nicely. Thank you, Scott Carter.”

He shrugged humbly. “Least I could do. Of course,” he added, “we still would like to get to the vault.”

“So,” Sanura said, “shall we play our game of riddles, then?” She looked palpably eager.

Scott’s mother chose this moment to speak. “I think Torvuk will be more than willing to take you up on that, _won’t you Torvuk?_ ”

The goblin shrank even smaller than he was under her intimidating glare. “Er, yes, of course, Madam.”

“The goblin’s problem-solving bores me,” Sanura said enigmatically. “I would prefer Scott Carter receive my challenge.”

Scott’s mother began to splutter her protestations, but was cut off by her son. “Sounds good. I’ll solve your riddle - on one condition,” he smirked. “You use only one this time.”

The Sphinx seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding. Scott’s mother sighed from behind him.

“It’s okay, Mum,” Scott assured her. “I do this every day at school.”

“There’s not usually a quadruple-X beast staring you down, though,” Ethan reasoned, though he didn’t seem to be complaining, on the contrary – he was grinning ear-to-ear as he watched Sanura sit and open her mouth.

“Amassed en mass, stunning a feat

What the Consul burned, sad defeat

Some jealously guard, others disperse

Whilst others avoid, knowing a curse

Obtained through patience, but not with waiting

Garnered in gardens, leather, and dating

Like water it flows, straight from a source

Hands unreliable, past first through fourth

Can bless the ignorant with all but eternity

It dies from the lies faced in modernity

So what, then, is the subject of this plight;

The coveted currency for which the learned fight?”

Her words reverberated strangely in the vaulted chamber, the gravitas of her words sinking in as Scott began to interpret the series of verses. He spent only a few minutes repeating the riddle to himself, presenting quite the display of problem-solving for Sanura, until he at last spoke his response.

“You are sure of your answer?” she asked, though he could tell from her wide smile he was right.

“I am.”

* * *

Christmas Day began for Alex with his alarm blaring its distinctive cry. Since September, he’d been waking up far earlier than he used to – the result of sharing a dorm with Scott Carter. He briefly contemplated going for a morning run, especially as he’d woken up as a boy, and felt far safer doing so in his neighbourhood in this form. He decided that Christmas, however, was hardly the day for fitness, and left his small bedroom without getting changed from his snug pyjamas.

In the living room-slash-kitchen, he found that the small plastic Christmas tree, which was pressed into a corner, had attained a number of new wrapped packages at its base. Most auspicious among the gifts was the skinny box, about five feet in length. His parents’ bedroom door opened, and the eponymous pair emerged.

“Merry Christmas, love,” they said.

“Merry Christmas,” Alex echoed, his eyes not quite leaving the long package. “Er, what is that?”

His parents glanced at one another, smiles tugging at their lips. “You’ll have to figure that one out on your own,” his father said mysteriously.

“Go on,” his mother urged. “Open them up.”

Alex set to work on the box, and had soon uncovered what he’d suspected. A sleek length of polished wood, labelled near the tip with bronze lettering spelling ‘Cleansweep 7’ lay before him. He reverently took it out and begun admiring the woodwork and bristles, the latter of which were neatly gathered to a point. It was most unlike any of the Hogwarts school broomsticks he’d used previously, and it suddenly occurred to him that Scott had called this the greatest broom currently on the market.

“How – How...?” he spluttered out. “How much did this cost?”

“Er, well,” his father began awkwardly, “in your magic money, it was about a hundred gold coins.”

At Alex’s severe gaze, his mother quickly added, “But it was worth it. And we didn’t pay for all of it.”

He blinked. “You didn’t...? But then...” And then it hit him. He was at once hit with a wave of emotions that were hard to describe. He saw that his mother was beginning to tear up, and he found that he was doing the same.

“You’ve found some very good friends,” she said quaveringly.

He rushed forward and hugged them both tightly.

“Merry Christmas, Alex,” his mother whispered.

* * *

Emile wandered down the cold corridor aimlessly. He didn’t feel like heading down to the lunch being hosted in the Great Hall, and instead occupied himself with getting to know the castle better. It was mostly empty now, though a number of prefects and teachers still haunted the halls - to say nothing of the many ghosts that literally did. Emile found that he preferred the solace. There were no classes to bother him, and far less people to put up a face to. He’d wondered a few times whether it had been a mistake not to take Scarlett up on her offer, but usually resolved to the contrary. Her sprawling mansion was not where he belonged right now.

He was interrupted from his musings by a man approaching from the opposite direction. He saw that it was Professor Foley. Foley had evidently seen him, too.

“Emile?” Foley asked, coming closer. “What are you doing up here?”

Emile was spared having to answer by Foley’s following statement. “You ought to come down to the Christmas lunch. And I’d prefer if you stayed away from this floor without me here.”

Emile was briefly unsure what he was talking about, before he realised that he was on the third floor, the same floor that his Defence teacher was supposed to be excavating. After the near flooding a month prior, he was hardly surprised Foley was so defensive of its security, though he felt slightly curious as to what he was excavating. He nodded, muttering his acquiescence, and begun to follow his teacher back down the hallway.

He didn’t have a decent argument as to why he should skip lunch, so trailed along down the stairs. The two of them spoke little as the approached the ground floor, and Emile noticed that Foley looked somewhat sickly. He wondered if it was because of the cold weather. His eyes had lines under them, which indicated somewhat of lack of sleep, and his face was pasty white. His hair was even more unruly than usual, too. Emile wondered if his own appearance resembled his apparently woebegone teacher’s.

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” Foley said to him as they reached the bottom of the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall.

“You too, sir,” he replied.

* * *

Alex glanced around the snowy car park. The inter-city rail had dropped him off in the town where he was supposed to be picked up, but he wasn’t quite sure which car to look out for. He felt rather silly holding his broomstick out in public, and had felt even stupider on the train. He’d made an attempt to disguise it with a blanket so as not to arouse suspicion – Muggles weren’t supposed to find out about the wizarding world, after all – but he still looked like a prat carrying around a big stick wrapped in a blanket.

“Oi!” a voice cried.

Alex’s head snapped around to see a familiar grinning face poking out of a car window.

“Come on, then!” Scott yelled, gesturing him over.

Alex made his way over, his trunk and broomstick gripped in his hands. Scott hopped out of the car to help him stuff both into the boot of the car, and they both found their seats in the back.

“Hello Alex, dear,” Mrs. Carter said, putting the car into Drive. “Have a nice Christmas?”

“It was brilliant, thanks. I can’t even begin to thank you for the broom,” he told her fervently. “Seriously, I never would have –”

“That’s enough out of you, now,” she interrupted, smiling at him through the rear-view mirror. “Any friend of Scott’s gets special treatment from me, and he was quite adamant that you get one.”

Alex shot a grateful look at Scott, to which he answered with a shrug and a grin. “You’ve got a better broom than me, now, mate,” Scott said. Alex saw Mrs. Carter smirk briefly from the driver’s seat. “We’ll be able to practice for the rest of the holidays. Y’know, we really ought to get your fireplace hooked up to the Floo Network. Would make things a lot easier.”

“Er, I don’t actually have a fireplace at mine,” Alex revealed.

“Oh,” Scott said awkwardly. “Well, maybe you can try the Leaky Cauldron?”

“How does the Floo compare to train tickets price-wise?” he asked.

Scott blinked, glancing over at his mother. “Er, I’m not really sure,” he said uncomfortably. Alex had the impression that Scott hadn’t really considered these things before.

“They’re fairly similar,” Mrs. Carter put in. “The landlord charges about fifteen sickles if you use his Floo powder. I used to have a similar problem back when I went to school.”

Scott cleared his throat awkwardly. “So anyway, no Ethan today.”

Having no real desire to keep discussing finances, Alex took him up on the non-sequitur. “Why not?”

“Seemed to be under the impression we’d be using him as target practice for Bludgers,” Scott said in mock bemusement.

“What gave him that impression?”

“Probably when I told him we’d use him as target practice,” he said archly, resting his head back on his arms.

It took about twenty minutes to reach the Carters’ house, which was located in the countryside, hidden behind a patch of woodland, and beside a large degree of moorland. As the car came up the long driveway to the house, Alex was struck by what he saw before him.

“You never said you lived in a manor!”

Scott cringed from where he sat. “Er, well, it’s hardly a... Well, technically it is, but...” He floundered for a moment. “Alright, yeah, it’s a manor,” he admitted.

The house had three storeys, and looked very old. Alex wasn’t altogether very knowledgeable about architecture, but he had the impression that the structure he was looking at was actually a collection of different styles from over several centuries. It looked idyllic and practically mystical covered in the white sheen of snow. He watched with awe as the mansion grow closer, and found himself wondering why he’d never known that Scott lived in such a decadent house. If this was where Scott lived, where did Ethan live? Did all witches and wizards live in big expensive houses? And how on Earth did they manage to keep it all clean?

Mrs. Carter pulled into a small parking garage, and after retrieving his broomstick and trunk, they headed up the lawn and into the house. They came into a timber-floor corridor, where a number of doors and a staircase led off from. As they passed the stairs, Alex thought he could hear excitable voices carrying down from above. They turned off the corridor into a richly furnished sitting room, complete with a large lit fireplace. He glanced at the clock that hung from the wall to check the time, but instead found four labelled hands, each corresponding to a member of the Carter family. Each was pointed at the same word: Home.

A woman wearing black and white was standing in the corner, busying herself with bringing down a large pine tree. Mrs. Carter approached the woman.

“How can I help, Jen?”

The woman brushed her off genially. “Not at all, Madam, not at all.” She gestured with her wand, and the tree began to levitate. She turned and began to head for the hallway.

Scott spoke up, “Er, Alex, this is Jen. Jen, this is Alex.”

“How do you do?” the woman asked.

Alex had to stop himself from gaping. She looked like she was straight from Victorian times, complete with the traditional maid outfit. He thought she must have been about thirty, and spoke with a refined accent. He thought could now guess as to how the house was cleaned.

“Good thanks,” he replied.

She continued her journey out of the room, the Christmas tree hovering strangely behind her. Mrs. Carter followed her out, taking Alex’s things with her. Alex looked at Scott in askance.

“She’s our housekeeper,” he explained. “Mum and Dad aren’t home most days, so Jen makes sure the house doesn’t fall apart in their absence.” He shook his head in mock offence. “It’s like they don’t trust me and Lindsay, or something. Anyway, the two of us normally help her out. Saves us from Mum’s guilt-tripping. I think they pay her extra to babysit, too.”

“Does she live here?”

Scott shook his head. “Nah, not for a while.”

“But she used to?”

“Yeah, but she moved out a while back. So,” he said, grinning, “do you want a tour? Might be worth getting to know where the loos are.”

They began to move about the house, Scott guiding him. There were apparently over thirty rooms, including the sitting room, two games rooms, the kitchen, larder, pantry, the dining room, functions room, a library, three bathrooms and en suite, two offices, the cellar, and two attic rooms. Alex was flabbergasted when Scott informed him that there was a whopping twelve bedrooms in the manor, and couldn’t possibly think of why so many would be required. There were finely woven tapestries, marble statuary, and enchanted paintings, and Scott assured him – to his astonishment - that there were more once upon a time.

During the tour, they ran into a number of other occupants of the house. Scott’s father and uncle were in the adults’ games room, busy with a game of wizards’ chess. It seemed Scott’s father, who introduced himself as Nathan, was winning the competition. Nathan Carter shared Scott’s tall height and gold-brown hair, though his complexion was a mite bit lighter, and his brother looked much the same. During the rest of the tour they came across two of Scott’s aunts, his grandmother, a roving pack of cousins, Scott’s sister, and her friend, Demelza Robins.

Scott’s sister, Lindsay, was a very animated girl with dark, curly hair, and her friend Demelza matched her temperament. They both excitedly agreed to a Quidditch match so that Scott and Alex could practice against other players. Scott’s cousins, ever-snooping, had overheard the proposition, and demanded to play too.

The ten of them filed out and traipsed into the woodland beside the house, their broomsticks over their shoulders. They came to a clearing where wooden goal hoops had been set up on either side, and quickly set about organising a game of five-a-side Quidditch. Scott and Alex served as Beaters on their team, whilst Lindsay and Demelza were Chasers. One of the cousins - similar in height to Scott, though somewhat wider – acted as their Keeper.

The game that ensued actually turned out to be a lot of fun, and Alex found himself impressed by Lindsay and Demelza’s flying skills. In the end, their team managed to pull ahead, and after an hour of play, won.

It eventually came time for Scott’s extended family to return to their respective homes, and once she was sure the house was spotless, the Carters’ maid returned to her house as well. The four Carters and two guests were soon the only ones remaining at the manor house. After they’d eaten dinner (a nice East Asian meal), watched a film on the Carters’ television, brushed their teeth, and gotten dressed, they set themselves to bed.

Alex had opted to share a room with Scott, rather than take one of the many empty bedrooms. It would be far easier to synchronise their early-morning exercise by continuing the pattern of sharing a room as they did at Hogwarts. They lay in the darkness, waiting for sleep to claim them. Something had been poking at Alex’s subconscious, however, preventing him from getting any sleep.

Finally, he spoke up, “Hey Scott?”

“Mm?”

“Why’d you never say anything about living in a place out of a Brontë novel?”

He thought he saw Scott cringe in the darkness. “It just... never really seemed relevant, y’know?” he said evasively.

“You rant about architecture and history all the time,” Alex said disbelievingly. “I find it a bit strange that you never once mentioned you lived in a place with all of that and more.”

Scott sighed. “You really want an honest answer? It was because I was worried you’d judge me. There, I said it.”

He snickered. “You thought I’d judge you for living in a nice house?” It was a fairly ridiculous sentiment, Alex thought.

“Well, because you’re... because you...” He swallowed convulsively. “Er...”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m poor?” he asked bluntly.

Scott’s ensuing silence settled his suspicions.

“Look, Scott,” he said, sitting up to look at him fully. “I don’t have what you’ve got. I’ve sort of accepted that about a lot of things already. I don’t think I’ll ever have anything like... this. But I don’t really care. You shouldn’t feel bad, or ashamed, just because you’re luckier than me. Because I don’t hold it against you.”

He thought that he sounded very mature coming out with this, though it was loosely based on something his father had said to him once.

“I just thought,” Scott muttered, “with Skeres always going on about her mansion...”

“I couldn’t give a crap about Scarlett Skeres, or what she has to say,” Alex said firmly. “Frankly, I don’t know why you do. She doesn’t reflect on anyone but herself, except maybe her family. I’m definitely not envious of her, that’s for sure. She’s just a sad little sheep, who probably won’t amount to much at all.”

Scott looked marginally more cheery following the insulting of his least favourite person. “Yeah, you’re right. So, you don’t... I dunno, feel like you don’t belong?” he asked anxiously.

Alex shrugged. “When I first saw the place I was a little worried, but your family made me feel right at home. I got to play Quidditch with you all, I ate dinner at your table, I watched a movie. And I never felt like I wasn’t supposed to be there. So... thanks.”

He grinned at him, which Scott returned, clearly relieved. Something had occurred to him, though. “I think I can see how you picked up some of your interests, now,” he remarked, examining the room. “You practically live in history here.”

Looking glad to discuss one of his favourite topics, Scott immediately launched into an explanation. “Oh, you’ve got no idea. I don’t know if you noticed, but Carter Hall’s been through several stages of refurbishment. There’s architectural relics of the Elizabethan, Jacobean, Georgian, Victorian eras, and more. There’s some Neoclassical flourishes here and there, too. But this house is supposed to date back to Norman times, supposedly. In fact, there’s some archaeological evidence that Carter Hall was around in some form as far back as Hogwarts’ founding! Oh, and another thing...”

Alex lay back on his mattress, letting his friend’s babbling voice wash over him. Eventually, somehow, he managed to drift off into restful slumber.


	14. And A Happy New Year

**And A Happy New Year**

The next two weeks that bled into the New Year sped by, and in what seemed like no time at all, the twelfth of January had arrived. Scott had awoken to his sister bursting through the door, her cries of "Happy Birthday!" rousing his Walkman into action.

" _Happy Birthday to you_

_Happy Birthday to you_

_Happy Birthday dear Scott_

_Happy Birthday to you!"_

Lindsay looked at the device confusedly, momentarily distracted. "It knows your name?"

"The Remembering Charm Mum put on it's mixed interestingly with the new Cassette Deck I got for Christmas," Scott explained, sitting up in his bed. "Anyway," he said teasingly, "I thought I was the main focus here?"

She rolled her eyes and threw herself at him, nearly squeezing the air out of him as she embraced him tightly. Scott found his face covered in frizzy dark hair, which made his nose itch uncontrollably. She pulled away and put her hands on her hips. "You'd better hurry up and get your presents, by the way. We need to leave soon."

"Fine, I'll race you," he challenged. "Last one there's a Flobberworm."

Lindsay leapt into action at once, not intending to give him a chance to prepare. Luckily, he'd expected this, and scrambled to his feet on his bed and bounded across its length. The springs creaked as he took a running jump, executing an impressive landing ahead of his sister. He stood in the doorway, blocking her path to the corridor beyond. She answered his impish grin with her own, and swiftly ducked under his arm.

Scott spun around, cursing, as she manoeuvred out of his reach. She dashed down the hallway, her light footsteps thudding quietly as she went. Scott made to follow, but realised that she was simply too fast. Thinking quickly, he gripped the long expensive line of carpet that extended down the hallway. He mustered up his strength and yanked as hard as he could, pulling the carpet out from under Lindsay's feet. She screamed and tumbled to the floor as he ran past, laughing uproariously. She gave a great war cry and launched herself at his legs, latching on with a grip like iron.

"Already practicing for being a Flobberworm?" Scott asked, as his sister was dragged along the floor by his shuffling feet. He just needed to reach the staircase – there was no way she'd let herself be dragged down the stairs.

* * *

Beverly glanced up as another round of shouts and thuds went up. She glanced at Nathan, who was taking a sip of his tea. "Where did they go so wrong?" she asked in mock-exasperation.

"I still say it's your influence," her husband teased.

The chaos came closer until eventually the door to the sitting room burst open, and through it came her daughter, followed closely by her son.

"Scott's a Flobberworm!" Lindsay cried victoriously.

"Scott's also twelve today," Nathan pointed out.

Lindsay's eyes widened, as if she'd somehow forgotten the reason she'd gone upstairs to wake her brother. "Oh yeah! Happy Birthday Flobberworm!"

"Happy Birthday, dear," Beverly said, standing and giving her son a hug.

Nathan repeated the sentiment, hugging Scott as well. "I'll grab the presents, shall I?" he offered, breaking away and heading out of the room.

"We got you plenty of lettuce this year, Flobberworm," Lindsay crowed.

"That's enough, dear," Beverly told her daughter mildly.

Nathan soon returned with three packages, the largest of which Beverly knew Scott would instantly recognise. Sure enough, Scott's ecstatic shout of: "Yes!" signalled that he'd guessed that his brand new Cleansweep Seven had arrived. He set to work at once, tearing the package open and admiring the broomstick from multiple angles.

She'd initially been resistant to buying him a new broomstick only three years after buying his Comet 260, but he'd assured her that there was a marked difference between the two. He'd actually demonstrated the difference when he'd flown first on Alex's new broom, and then on his own. The Comet, they had decided, was far more suited to quick manoeuvres, turns, and spins. The Cleansweep - while just as fast as the Comet - was far sturdier, and had a better acceleration time. For Beating, the Cleansweep was a clear winner, and she'd be damned before she let her son return to his house team without a winning broom. Nathan had quite agreed.

The other presents were a new book by Gilderoy Lockhart; 'Year with the Yeti,' and a new Broomstick Servicing Kit, both of which pleased Scott immensely.

"I'll definitely be reading this on the drive down to London," he said, waving the Lockhart book excitedly. Its cover was mostly dominated by the author's name and grinning face. Every now and then, Lockhart's face would turn steely and heroic as an enormous furry white figure lumbered into frame.

"Actually," Nathan corrected, "that might not be possible."

Scott looked confused. "Why?"

"We're Flooing to London, today," Beverly said.

Scott looked even more befuddled. "I thought you're supposed to get there by car? Stops Floo congestion, and makes Muggles think less of a strange crowd, and all that?"

Nathan was smirking now. "True, but we'll be heading off a few hours before eleven. We've got some things we need to do before you head back to school."

Scott's eyes narrowed. "What things?"

Beverly just smiled. "You'll see."

* * *

"You're joking!"

"Nope, not joking," his mother said.

"But is it open yet?"

"Not till ten, normally."

"Then how - ?"

"It's all been ironed out," she assured him.

The four of them made their way up the stone stairs that led to the grandiose neoclassical pillars set before the building's entrance. The British Museum was famous – or infamous – on a worldwide level. Both Muggles and Wizards knew of the museum, and it was here that several million items of significance were stored and displayed.

They stepped up to the front doors of the museum, Scott barely restraining himself from simply rushing in. Before he could do anything, however, his mother pulled out her wand, glancing about for anybody who could be watching. Scott was about to utter a warning regarding the security camera that had its lens focused on them, when his mother pointed her wand at it. The camera seemed to whirr into life, and shifted side-to-side, taking the four of them in. After a few moments, a clear, feminine voice trilled out from nowhere in particular.

"Clearance for Nathan George Carter, thirty-nine, confirmed. Clearance for Beverly Jameson Carter, thirty-nine, confirmed. Clearance for Scott Howard Carter, twelve, confirmed. Clearance for Lindsay Christie Carter, nine, confirmed. Have a very nice day at the British Museum, Department of Magic."

They were suddenly engulfed in a swirling mass of colour, writhing like a fluorescent whirlwind. Scott felt his feet momentarily leave the ground, before he was gently placed back to Earth. He blinked the colour out of his eyes, and saw that he was no longer standing before the front doors. He was in a great atrium, constructed from polished timber that gleamed reflectively in the light of the stunning chandelier that hovered overhead. Scott was too busy admiring the chamber to notice the figure that had moved towards them, until they spoke.

"And the Carters have arrived!" a genial voice cried. "Happy Birthday Scott."

The voice was familiar to Scott, and sure enough, the proprietor of the Ice-Cream Parlour on Diagon Alley; Florean Fortescue came bustling up to them. It immediately occurred to Scott that there was a reason the man was here before opening time.

"Florean!" Scott said. "You're the curator?"

The man shook his head. "Not quite, I'm afraid. I was recently lucky enough to be awarded the title of Trustee on the Museum Board." He sounded remarkably proud of this.

"Florean here is who you have to thank for opening early for you," Scott's father said.

Florean shrugged in a display of humility. "Oh, it was nothing. Besides, the parlour can get by without me for a few hours." He focused his attention onto Lindsay. "Christ on a bike, Bev's cloned herself!" he cried, making a show of leaping backwards in shock.

After they'd finished exchanging pleasantries - and in the case of Lindsay, proper introductions – Florean offered to show them about the many displays. Scott soon learned that the Department of Magic had several sub-departments that mirrored the Muggle museum, with areas for artefacts of Antiquity, relics of the Renaissance, and long conserved curios. A great monolith dating back to the Middle Kingdom of Egypt emanated an energy that the protective casing about it could not entirely disguise, an ominous series of Sumerian statuary shifted to always gaze at the nearest person when no one was watching, and a separated pair of Incan siku piped hauntingly on their lonesome – longing to be rejoined and played together.

Scott was fascinated with every minute display, spending an inordinate amount of time with his nose an inch from the glass encompassing each wrested artefact. His family members were surprisingly non-argumentative at his obstinate desire to gaze at chunks of old marble, likely in part due to the actual significance of the relics on display. Not even the low attention span of Lindsay could prevent some level of interest in what was exhibited. Scott's mother was finding some degree of intrigue in some displays, too, though her outlook wasn't quite as positive.

She had bent over to examine a display from the Caribbean, and had engaged Florean in conversation. Scott could hear what was being said from where he was, only a few feet away.

"So, Florean," his mother was saying, "I suppose there's been no luck with the rest of the Board?"

Florean sighed. "I'm sorry, Bev. I've raised the concern, but they won't hear it. The Director shuts it down every time I try." Scott could see him gazing at the same display regretfully. Inclining his head ever so slightly, Scott could make out a large clay pot.

"The Jamaican Ministry trusts me to press this," Scott's mother said. "I don't want to pressure you, Florean. You only just got the position. But if you can't get the repatriation to go ahead, I want to speak with The Director – _directly._ "

Scott knew that tone of voice well. Whoever this Director was, they ought to be scared for their very soul, Scott thought. Florean looked scared, too, though his face seemed to purvey anxiousness, as opposed to pity for this Director figure. "Bev, I know this is personal for you, but I wouldn't get too far up his..." He glanced in Scott and Lindsay's direction. "...arse. Skeres can make your life into a living Hell."

Scott suddenly dropped all pretence of not listening in, snapping his head around to face them directly. "Skeres?" he asked with a little too much intensity.

Both his mother and Florean turned to look at him in surprise. "Er, yes, Titus Skeres. You know of him?" Florean queried.

"I know the name," Scott answered grimly, thinking of the manticore the man called a daughter. "Isn't he the Editor of the Daily Prophet? He's on the Board of Governors at Hogwarts."

"Co-Editor," Florean corrected. "He's Director of the Board of Trustees here, too. Elected just before I joined."

Scott's mother looked no less determined. "I don't care how many fancy titles he's got. He'll hear what I've got to say, or so help me God, I'll do something he'll regret."

Florean's anxiousness was no less elevated by this proclamation. "Beverly, Skeres isn't someone you want to cross. The man's ruthless, and respected by everyone. He makes Rita Skeeter look like an insignificant insect, and could get you dismissed from the Confederation if he felt like it. Leave this to me, I've got it handled."

Evidently, this did nothing to assuage Scott's mother's concerns, judging by the gimlet eye she turned on the man. She opened her mouth, an intake of breath preceding what was sure to be a fascinating tirade, when a throat being cleared interrupted her. They all looked around at Scott's father, who was standing off to the side, holding Lindsay's hand.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we're not alone anymore." He inclined his head towards the smattering of elderly wizards who had entered the hall.

Scott's mother glanced in his direction, sighed, turned back to Florean, and nodded. "Alright, Florean. I'll let you handle this for now," she muttered fretfully.

"I'm sorry, Bev," Florean said, and he looked like he meant it. "I promise that I'll keep you in the know."

Conversation dried out after this, so Scott occupied himself with reading up on some of the Anglo-Saxon exhibits while the last few minutes until they were due to leave ticked away. He heard Florean approach from behind.

"Interesting piece isn't it?" he said, indicating the rune-inscribed set of armour that Scott had been examining. "A fairly recent find, too. Our foremost expert on British archaeology, Michael Foley, is to thank for this one."

"Professor Foley found this?" Scott asked excitedly.

"Ah, that's right. I'd forgotten he was teaching at Hogwarts this year," Florean said, smiling. "How's his project coming along? I haven't heard from his team in a while."

Scott considered. "Well, he managed to find something big. Last I checked, he had fairly high hopes for whatever it was. I might ask when I get back tonight."

"I'll make sure to check with my cousin, Tristan," the older man said. "He's on the team with Foley, you know."

Scott continued to look at the set of armour, though his attention was partially divided. He glanced back at his mother, who was far enough away to not overhear. "So, Florean, what was all that about just before?"

"I presume you heard the whole thing?" When Scott nodded, Florean continued, "Maybe you've heard, but this museum has a great many artefacts that were possessed under... less than favourable conditions. Certain relics that are considered culturally or historically significant ended up back here over the years. The countries we took them from are now asking for them back."

Scott was reminded of what Professor Foley had told him. "But... surely they're still being robbed to this day? Don't Curse-Breakers make a living in tomb-raiding? So this hasn't ended, it's still going on!"

Florean adjusted his robes awkwardly. "Well, yes, I suppose. Though that's a whole other can of Flobberworms altogether. Not much that can be done about that."

Scott was about to disagree, simply on principle, but his father was approaching.

"Well, I hate to tear you away, son, but you're going to miss your train if we don't head off." He flashed his gold watch, which gave indication that eleven o'clock was soon arriving. Scott's insides squirmed as he tried not to consider to watch's origins.

"Alright, fine," he acquiesced querulously.

They each made their way back to the atrium, where they bid farewell to Florean. From there they stepped out the front doors, only to find themselves somehow emerging from the Muggle front doors that the camera had been hanging over. The sun was higher in the sky now, and signalled their imminent need to away to King's Cross Station.

"Yes, yes, we're all impressed," Ethan said, rolling his eyes at them.

They were seated in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, hurtling north into increasingly snow-coated scenery. Scott and Alex both had their matching broomsticks out, and were loudly lauding the lengths of wood and twigs. Ethan was feasting upon Scott's birthday cake (of the carrot variety), despite his usual complaints regarding Scott's choice in birthday confectionery.

The pair of them had already given Scott his birthday presents – predictably, they had given him books. Scott could hardly complain, in fact he quite appreciated the gifts. Ethan had purchased a bound collection of historical beast-related accounts, as well as the biography of Newt Scamander. Alex's books were entirely Muggle in origin, but no less appreciated - she had bought him a book on music theory, and one on ancient architecture.

Ethan had taken on another mouthful of cake when the compartment door slid open. For possibly the one and only time, Scott was delighted to see Scarlett Skeres standing before him. At her side was the looming form of Graham Montague, whose mouth was hanging gormlessly as he gazed at the two pristine broomsticks in the compartment. Skeres was openly staring, too, though she looked far shrewder.

Alex piped up, "Hi, can we help you?"

Scott exchanged glances with her, grinning.

"Those are broomsticks," said Montague, rather stupidly, Scott thought.

"Well spotted," Scott confirmed for him.

Skeres huffed impatiently. "First years aren't allowed brooms, you idiots." Her face split into an evil grin. "Shall we confiscate them for you? We'll make sure a teacher gets them."

"Oh don't worry," Scott said, barely holding back laughter, "the teachers already know." He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket, and handed it to her. It was worn from being read so many times over the holidays, whenever Scott had wanted to fantasise about this exact moment. He could recite it from memory at this point, and so he did so.

"To Scott Carter and Alexis Wroxton," he began, as Skeres started reading the slanted writing, "It has come to my attention that due to your recent special circumstances – specifically, your appointment as Ravenclaw's newest Beaters –" - Scott paused a moment to savour the dawning look of horrified comprehension on her face - "you are in need of broomsticks of your own. It is due to these circumstances that I permit an exception to the No Broom Policy in order for you to perform to the Hogwarts standard in your future endeavours. Wishing you a very Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year, Albus Dumbledore." He finished with a flourish of self-satisfaction in his voice, as Skeres furiously balled up the letter in her fist.

" _So,_ " she spat out, "you used your Teacher's Pet Privilege to break the rules. _Congratulations._ "

"It's funny what you can do when people can stand to be around you," Scott said, his lips curling up at her expression. "On that note, don't you have somewhere else to make miserable?"

Ethan guffawed from beside the compartment window, though Skeres' dangerous glare shut him up quickly.

"Graham," Skeres began in a sickeningly coy voice, not taking her eyes from the three in the compartment, "would you mind checking for any prefects?"

The boy turned to and fro, and then grinned. "No one in sight."

"No one to interrupt then," she said, pulling out her wand at the precise moment that Scott did.

" _Colloportus,_ " Scott incanted. The compartment door suddenly slid shut quicker than Skeres' attempt to enter. A squelching sound met their ears as it closed, and Skeres and Montague were left on the other side, fruitlessly attempting to tear the door open. Scott, Alex, and Ethan proceeded to laugh themselves silly as the pair of red-faced and panting Slytherins eventually gave up.

"This isn't over!" Skeres raged through the glass.

Scott mimed deafness, whilst the other two waved an enthusiastic goodbye, still laughing uproariously. Skeres and Montague eventually stormed off - no doubt, Scott assumed, to harass someone else.

He sighed with satisfaction. "That was worth it, even if I can't actually remember the Counter-Charm to that spell."

Ethan and Alex suddenly stopped laughing.

* * *

The cavernous chamber was lit only by the gleaming yellow orbs that hovered over the group's heads. They were a fascinating crew, garbed in steel chain or robes, and numbering twenty-two. Many of the men had beards - some dark, some light, some ginger. Among their number moved but one woman, raven-haired and austere.

In the darkness beyond their sight, a distant echo reached the group; quiet as a whisper, but as threatening as a war cry. One man spoke, his tongue melodic, and overtly Gaelic. "What was that?" he breathed in his language.

"Merely the sound of our steps, reflected back at us," said a brown-haired man in dark robes, his tone bolstering, if harsh. "We must not fall to craven temptation when our destiny draws near. The Vault must lie just ahead," he continued. "If our party needs sight, further light may be necessary."

"The Speaker commands the Vault," another man said. "I would call on the Snake-Blooded to provide."

The black-robed man who had spoken turned to look at the woman. She gazed back, and nodded, then proceeded to draw in a breath. Her eyes rolled back into her head momentarily, before returning; her pupils no longer a dilated circle, but a pair of serpentine slits. The sounds that issued forth from her mouth were bizarre – a hissing, clicking, and spitting approximation of a language.

" _I speak to the Heart, from the heart,_

 _In chamber dark, your light impart!_ "

It was apparent from the unnerved expressions on the group's faces that they had no clue what she could possibly be saying, but a moment later, the large chamber answered her demands. The group blinked rapidly as the chamber burst into illumination, their eyes adjusting to the light. The woman's eyes returned to normal, their usual humanity restored.

A scan of the room revealed that there wasn't much to speak of, capacity-wise. The small crowd that stood within stood alone in what seemed to be a wide, empty hall. The walls were decorated with great carvings, with stonework looking as fresh as the day it was first carved. The length of the chamber was otherwise sparse, with no furnishings or decorations to speak of, excluding the great pillars interspersed along the sides of the chamber. Each pillar seemed to separate a section of relief carving, the details of which were not visible from the distance the party stood at. On the opposite end of the chamber was a wide staircase, atop which was a large archway. The archway led to a door, much like the silver-locked one the party had entered through.

"Let it be known that this is the queerest structure that I have laid eyes upon in all my years," a bearded man in chainmail voiced.

"No doubt," said another.

The party of one-score plus two made their cautious way across the chamber, their footsteps reverberating ominously as they went.

The dark robed man with brown hair spoke again, "I do not wish to alarm you, but I fear that we may not be alone in this chamber."

As he said this, a horrible sound of cracking stone went up, and the group spun around to find that three of their number had undergone a horrible transformation. The trio of men were transfixed, their heads turned upwards towards the ceiling, expressions of frozen terror upon their faces. They did not move a muscle - indeed, their muscles had all been calcified; the men had been transformed into statues.

Foolishly, several more men turned their gaze upwards out of instinctual fright. A short series of screams later brought eight more to join the stone statuary.

"Do not look, you fools!" cried the dark robed man. "The beast's gaze is deadly!"

The quickly thinning party tried to make a sprint for the door that would take them beyond the chamber, but before they could make any real progress, they found their path blocked. A serpentine form descended before them, lowering itself down by the great scaled wings on its back. Its great tail coiled upon the stone floor, a seat for its feminine form, which rose up over them, wings outstretched. Its hair was a sea of serpents, and its glare was venomous. It hissed furiously, its words going unheard by most of the frightened group before it.

" _Interlopers, leave this place!_ " it spat.

The creature's sudden appearance had rendered five more among the party into a state of petrification. The remaining six raised wands, and proceeded to cast blindly in the direction of the beast. Many of their spells missed - the casters' eyes tightly shut as they were prevented any accuracy. The spells that did hit had minimal effect, but the monster's screams of rage and pain were enough of a sign that it was time to run.

Passing the creature, the remnants of the once mighty group dashed up the stairs, and burst through the door to the next room. The door, thankfully, was not locked, but when the dark robed man attempted to use a spell to lock it, it had no effect.

" _You are not welcome!_ " the monster hissed. It was upon them in a moment, and a man was dragged from the chamber, his screams of terror cutting short quite suddenly. The last five survivors did not see their friend's fate, as their eyes were tightly shut again, but they could reason a guess regardless.

The woman who could speak in hisses screamed out at the creature, desperation lacing her snake-like voice.

" _Serpent-hybrid of ancient make,_

 _Retreat now, and spare us the snake!_ "

Her words had no effect, and the creature merely continued towards them. The dark-robed man cried out, "Síle!"

He reached out and grabbed her, dragging her out of the monster's reach. It had crossed the threshold now, and was now bearing down upon them. Again, the woman tried to speak in the serpent-tongue.

" _Serpent-hybrid of ancient make,_

 _Retreat now, and spare us the snake!_ "

The creature suddenly froze, looming over them as if about to strike. The rage-filled expression suddenly left its face, replaced by an oddly blank look. It seemed to droop, losing the threatening demeanour it had just had. It spoke, " _Yes, Speaker._ "

It then turned, and proceeded to return to the large hall where their many frozen compatriots still remained. The dark robed man sighed with relief. They survivors were clearly all in shock, hardly daring to believe their luck. The moment of reprieve was broken, however, as a hideous screech sounded from the hall.

" _You cannot use my Master's powers againssst me, mortal!_ " the half-snake, half-woman beast screamed. " _I am beyond such manipulation!_ "

"Flee!" the woman named Síle cried, as the creature lurched back towards them, its apparent bewitchment shattered.

The others did not require a second iteration of her instruction, and they flung themselves across the large room, through yet another door, which also refused to lock behind them. The monster pursued them, hissing furiously as it went, its speed terrifying. They continued down a long corridor, until they found themselves in a large room – not as huge as the hall they'd met the beast in, but similarly grand. In the very centre of the chamber was a stone plinth, atop which sat a stone basin.

Behind them, the creature emerged. " _I have but one task,_ " it said. " _You will not prevent it._ "

Síle drew breath again, and though her eyes were screwed shut, it was a certain thing that the slitted pupils had returned.

" _Fiend of the Abyss, hear my decree,_

 _Henceforth, know this: Your Master is me!_ "

The creature seemed to struggle with itself for a moment, fighting to resist the words. Whilst it struggled, the dark robed man wrested the basin from its plinth. One of the other men, sweat dripping down his brow, looked at him with shock.

"What do you think you are doing?" he cried.

The look that the dark robed man gave him was grim. "That enchantment shall not last. We must permit to defeat, and flee. Epistemus' treasure is lost to us for now, but without the memory basin, it is lost to all others, too. We return again when our strength returns to us. This is not over, I assure you."

He turned and walked past the guardian, and with some hesitation, the other three men followed. From the entrance to the stone passageway, the dark robed man called to the woman. "Síle! We must away!"

She was far too occupied with the monster, however. It looked remarkably more docile, now.

" _Yesss... Master..._ " it hissed. It swayed slightly under its bewitchment.

" _Follow,_ " was all Síle said to it.

It began to follow, dutifully acting on her commands. They trailed along behind the men, who seemed highly uncomfortable with the creature's presence.

"Leave the monster, Síle," the dark robed man said.

"It follows my commands," she insisted. "It cannot disobey."

As they spoke, they passed through a doorway. At once, the glazed look in the guardian's eyes was lifted, and an expression of malevolence replaced it. The creature let out a quiet hiss, but otherwise continued to trail along dutifully. Once the group had returned to the hall, where the petrified forms of their companions. Síle raised her hand, calling for a halt.

" _Slave,_ " she hissed, not looking at the creature, which was eyeing her with evil intent, " _is there a way to restore these victims their vitality?_ "

The guardian rose up on its tail, its wings spreading out. " _Your friends shall have an eternity to discover an answer!_ " it cried gleefully. Then, it lurched forwards, and before she could react, several fangs were sinking into Síle's flesh. The hair of snakes, and the creature's own mouth, all began pouring their venom out into the screaming woman.

Without thinking, two more of the men looked around at the chaos unfolding, and inadvertently made eye contact with the guardian. Blood dripped from the many mouths of the monster, who grinned maniacally as two more morbid decorations joined the hall. The chamber looked considerably fuller now.

The dark robed man's wand lashed out, and the bleeding woman was raised into the air, and began to hover over to him. Then, he turned and began to run, the now-unconscious woman and his other companion following in his wake. The guardian laughed as they went, and began to sing in its twisted language.

" _Seal the doors, that they should remain so,_

_Under rock it holds what none will ever know,_

_My master's treasure, kept deep below,_

_The rolling hills, lake, and meadow._ "

The entire structure began to rumble violently. The fleeing figures had reached the door that led out, and just as the dark robed man and the levitating woman passed through, it swung shut on its own. The last man remaining collided hard with the wood, and shrieked in terror. He pulled at the door handle, and beat at it with his fist. Using his wand, he attempted to blast it open, but instead he was knocked back. As the guardian approached, slithering across the stone floor, he balled himself up in the foetal position and began to whimper.

The structure was still shaking, and the distant sounds of crumbling stone could be heard from behind the now sealed door. The entire structure was sinking, descending deep underground. The power of the snake-tongue had commanded the complex to seal itself away, where it could not be discovered or reached again. As the last remaining man was transformed to solid rock, the guardian's victorious expression morphed into something else – a deep melancholy.

* * *

Michael Foley blinked rapidly as he emerged from the Pensieve – the very same rune-carved basin he'd just witnessed the purloining of.

"Well," he muttered, "that was certainly... something."


	15. Code Duello

**Code Duello**

The news that a pair of first years had been selected as Ravenclaw’s newest players had spread amongst the student body by the day’s end, finally unfrozen from the state of stasis that the break had elicited.

At first, Scott and Alex received numerous degrees of congratulations from those that they came into contact with – especially those who had learned of the news via members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Even a few Slytherins had been somewhat accommodating, despite their upcoming game against one another, happily breaking with the Slytherin stereotype that Scarlett Skeres had contributed to.

By the following morning, however, the initial wave of complimentary language had come to an end. In truth, the new Beater pair had been expecting some amount of tension from their rival houses; everyone wanted their own house to win, after all. What neither Scott, nor Alex, had expected was the sudden upsurge in sideways glances, whispered words, conversations cut short, and secretive titters originating from the members of their own house.

A walk through the Ravenclaw common room now felt like walking into a courtroom, with at least a hundred eyes slowly following behind. Both Scott and Alex resolutely avoided the judging gazes whenever they were forced to make the unhappy treks to and from their dorm room. As the days crept by, and their classes and homework returned in full swing, the tension had become entirely unbearable. The three friends had often tried to parse the meaning behind the suddenly changed behaviour of their housemates, but with little success. Whenever they tried asking anyone they were usually met with blank looks, awkward stuttering, or confrontational statements of: “If you don’t already know, then we have nothing to discuss.”

The trio were sitting at a table by one of the graceful windows in the common room, attempting to ignore the occasional glance in their direction. They were working on an essay for Magical Theory each: Provide a full explanation of each of the Four Precepts of Linguistic Connotation in Incanting – but they occupied themselves more with trying to work out the predicament they found themselves in.

“No one on the team will explain it to me,” Scott was saying. “They just get a guilty look on their faces whenever I ask, and try to change the topic. What about you, Alex? You were going to ask Davies directly today, how’d that go?”

“Er,” he muttered, “it didn’t really ‘go’ at all.”

“What d’you mean?”

Alex looked very uncomfortable. “Well, I was going to ask, and then I didn’t.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, really? So what _did_ you talk to Roger Davies about?”

“Nothing,” he snapped back. “I got scared and ran away.”

Ethan blinked confusedly. “Why?”

“Never mind that now,” he said quickly. “What matters is that we’re still no closer to figuring out why everyone’s acting like we murdered their families.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

The three of them looked up at the sixth year prefect called Robert Hilliard, who had carried a chair over. He placed it down facing away from them, and sat down in a reverse seating arrangement so that his arms rested on the back of the chair.

“You can?” Scott asked hopefully.

“You might not like what you’ll hear, but you ought to know, anyway,” Robert continued. He paused for moment, clearly thinking hard about what to say next. They waited patiently for his next words.

“Most in Ravenclaw,” he began again, “are fairly proud of the reputation we’ve gained. We’re known universally as ‘the smart house’, where the ones with brains get placed. There’s a certain push to keep that standard going, at all costs. We like to maintain our reputation as the smartest, the ones who blow the other houses out of the water – academically speaking.”

“Don’t I know it,” Scott mused.

Alex and Ethan nodded – there certainly was an atmosphere of competitiveness for the title of ‘the smartest’ in Ravenclaw. It wasn’t difficult to see that in other houses, like Hufflepuff, such concerns were far less important.

“But what’s that got to do with...?” Alex gestured vaguely at the common room.

“Well, Ravenclaw’s made up of a lot of differing people,” Robert went on. “But one of the less popular pursuits of Ravenclaw is Quidditch. More than a few of our housemates don’t think very much about the sport – they think it barbaric, I suppose.”

“Well, I mean,” Ethan began defensively, “it is, right? People only like it because everyone else around them does.”

“Regardless,” Robert said quickly, as Scott had shown every sign of angrily disagreeing, “attitudes are fairly mixed when it comes to Quidditch. Their opinions of those who play it tend to be mixed, too. A collection of, suffice to say, oddballs lost in their own heads aren’t as likely to hold the athletic type in high regard, if you catch my meaning.”

Alex looked nonplussed. “So they’re judging us because we’re playing a sport? But I’ve not seen anyone else on our team get looks, so why single us out?”

Ethan squinted in contemplation. “I actually think I might know why...”

They all turned to look at him expectantly.

“So... Okay, hear me out, right? So Quidditch is bad enough, and the big fit types aren’t everyone’s favourite, but what’s the most extreme, idiotic, dumb, stupid, not-smart thing someone who likes Quidditch and is fit could do?”

Alex still looked confused, though Scott looked thunderous. He forced out through gritted teeth: “ _Play Beater?_ ”

“Precisely!” Ethan exclaimed enthusiastically.

Robert shot him a quelling look, and Ethan quickly schooled his expression. “Not exactly how I’d have put it,” the prefect said, sighing, “but not necessarily incorrect, either.” He looked from Alex to Scott beseechingly. “You have to understand, the Beaters who came before you made Ravenclaw look like a joke. Everyone was livid to see the housemates who were chosen to represent them damage the house’s reputation like that. Is it true that you were selected because there were no other options?”

Scott didn’t answer, just glared at nothing in particular. Alex nodded dejectedly.

“I’m not surprised,” Robert said. “Not many people would have wanted to take on the role after what happened with Harris and Hutchens.” He sighed again, and leaned in, his eyes moving between them sympathetically. “I won’t lie to you two, there isn’t going to be much support from Ravenclaw coming your way between now and the match against Slytherin. I don’t know how much help it’ll be, but I’ll be bringing this up to the other prefects - we might be able to stop the others from treating you differently. The issue is...”

“That won’t stop them from continuing to think we’re morons,” Scott finished once he had trailed off.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” Robert said. “You had no way of knowing – you’re only first years. If it’s any consolation, I’m sure it’ll pass given enough time.”

It was an easy read to see that it wasn’t – Scott still looked silently furious, Alex miserable, Ethan conflicted. The rest of the evening continued in an uneasy silence from that point, until they each went to their respective dorms.

* * *

The general disrespect that Scott and Alex had garnered for their appointment to the team continued to bubble as the days passed, its intoxicating fumes causing no small degree of disquiet for the two new Beaters. As January progressed, and the frigid temperatures continued, they found themselves unable to escape the judgement of their peers. To make matters worse, it seemed that Slytherin had cottoned on to the new dilemma, and in the wake of the upcoming match, quickly turned their taunting onto the already put-upon Ravenclaws.

Skeres, most predictably, had latched onto the sudden turn against her mortal enemies with vindictive enthusiasm. Potions class had somehow become even more unbearable, especially as Professor Snape, who had always made a habit of commenting on Scott and his friends’ intellect, made no attempt to stem the tide of taunting they now faced.

In the face of general opinion turning on the group, particular idiosyncrasies and factors of their persons were now in the public spotlight for all to judge. Alex’s shifting nature had always flown under the radar, but was now on display for all to form opinions on – many of which were less than supportive. To their credit, Alex was dealing with the poor treatment remarkably well, at least externally. Only Scott really knew of the extent of the hurt they were experiencing, whenever he overheard the small gasping sobs from the neighbouring bed late at night.

Even Ethan, despite his lack of relation to Quidditch, was quickly finding himself the target of bullying – a result of his continued association with what was considered to be Ravenclaw’s most embarrassing members. Nary a croak had sounded from Ethan’s direction since they’d returned from holidays – Cyril was still deep in hibernation – but this didn’t stop the insults, of which ‘frog-kid’ was a favourite of many. It was at the point that whenever his surname was called on by a teacher, ripples of laughter would sound out in the classroom.

Scott faced a great deal of discrimination, too; tall, broad, and tan, when combined, were not traits that garnered the image of an intellectual – at least not in the eyes of many at Hogwarts. He saw the majority of the ‘prat’ claims, among the more specialty ‘lumbering brute’, ‘half-blood-half-giant’, ‘knuckle-dragger’, and ‘club-swinging-troll’. The latter insult had just landed from one Mark Stebbins as the class left a lacklustre History of Magic lecture that Scott had elected not to commandeer.

“Yeah?” Scott growled furiously, taking a step forwards, a fist raised threateningly. “I’ve got my club ready if you want a go, Stebbins!”

He only acquiesced to his friends dragging him away to avoid a confrontation in the same vein as a prior run-in with McLaggen that had earned them both detentions.

“Come on, Scott!” Ethan admonished patronisingly once they were away. “You realise you’re just proving their point by trying to fight them all the time?”

Alex shook his head warningly at him.

“Brilliant,” Scott groused, striding down the stone corridor. “You always know just what to say, Ethan. Thanks a lot.”

“Maybe if you just stop reacting so much, you’d stop baiting them,” he continued, oblivious to the mounting fury on his friend’s face.

“Look Ethan, could you just leave it?” Alex asked beseechingly.

Yet, still he continued his berating. “Y’know – y’know this affects me too, right? But I can’t do anything to stop them from getting at me. Neither can Alex. I mean, _I_ don’t feel the need to do frog impressions every time they call _me_ names, so why do _you_ keep trying to prove them right?”

“Just stop it!” Alex cried.

Ethan turned his gaze onto the blond, squinting confusedly through his glasses. “Alex, weren’t you the one pestering him last year – y’know, when he was doing the exact thing he’s doing now?”

“And weren’t you saying for me to drop it, then?” Alex replied. “Ethan, we decided on Halloween not to bother Scott about this anymore. Hanging on him to be nice all the time isn’t going to help. Facts are; he’s got a lot of pressure on him at the moment, we all do!”

“Exactly! You think I’m not being affected by all this bad treatment you two have brought? I’ve never so much as touched a Beater’s bat in my life, but look what I’m getting from everyone!”

Alex _glared_. “’This bad treatment you two have brought’? We never asked for this, Ethan!”

“Neither did I!”

“Is this about Charms?”

Ethan looked furious. “Is this – Cha - No, it has nothing to do with Charms!”

“There’s plenty I struggle with, too, Ethan,” Alex reasoned. “Scott as well. There’s no shame in it.”

“I’d like to see you deal with McLaggen and his cronies calling you names like that!”

“I do deal with it!” Alex shouted. “Do you know what Hooper called me last Wednesday?” Ethan didn’t immediately respond, but Alex continued regardless, “He called me ‘the confused ladyboy’ – Oh buggering hell!”

The sudden physiological change of becoming several inches shorter, among other distinct alterations, seemed to be an uncomfortable one. Now presenting far more femininely, though bogged down by clothing not at all fitting for her current body, Alex sighed in defeat. Ethan’s face twisted with guilt and pity.

“Er, we’ll be late to Charms, but I can wait for you to change, er, if you want?”

“No,” Alex muttered. “I forgot to bring a change of clothes again. I need to head back up to Ravenclaw tower.”

“Well, maybe today you might just have to go to class with boys clothes on?” Ethan ventured. At Alex’s unimpressed look, he hastily backtracked, “Er, or not. It’s just you’ll be really late otherwise. But maybe Scott can come with you; Flitwick’ll let you off for being late if you’re with him. Scott?”

They both glanced around for their friend, but found nothing. Evidently, he had wandered off at some point during their discussion.

“Must’ve wanted to be on time for class,” Ethan remarked.

Alex sighed. “Just go to Charms. I’ll be down later.”

Scott, it turned out, was not in Charms class. Ethan found himself oddly comforted by this. He sat himself beside his dormmate, Declan Haworth, and though Charms wasn’t typically a reinforcing activity for his self-esteem, he found that he was somewhat relieved by the absence of Alex; constantly fretting as she was, and Scott; whose brooding rage made him unpleasant to be around. Besides, much of the teasing he received was because of their proximity to him. Sitting next to Haworth, he seemed to face less discrimination than he had recently.

Throughout the lesson, Ethan constantly expected the arrival of either Alex or Scott, but never did they show. He supposed that he should have been concerned about this, but resolved to simply not think about it. He needed to concentrate on his Charmwork, after all.

* * *

Scott sighed, standing before the door. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking coming here, but his feet had simply carried him away once his brain had gotten too overwhelmed with anger. They’d led him here, and he couldn’t help but feel pathetic for it. Nevertheless, he found himself raising an arm and knocking.

He waited for a second – two – when he suddenly decided he was being ridiculous. He’d be late for Charms, and he hardly expected to be listened to, anyway. He took a step back from the door, but was stopped from moving further when the door opened an inch.

Professor Foley looked surprised to see him standing there. “Scott! Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Sorry, Professor,” he said, cringing inwardly. “Er, do you have a class you need to be at?”

Foley blinked. “No, actually. One of my few free periods; was going to use it for... Well, anyway, did you need me for something?”

“Could I come in?” Scott said in a rush.

“Er, well, I was going to... The thing is...” Foley hesitated for a moment longer, but then he took a closer look at him. “Sure, Scott.”

Scott entered the office, noticing at once that it looked far less clean than it had before the holidays. Dust clung to several surfaces, and parchment was strewn about the room. A potions book was lying on the desk, open to a page with a long set of instructions. Scott was slightly surprised that no house elf had seen to some of the mess, but he supposed they didn’t clean teachers’ offices.

“Excuse the mess,” Foley said, as though reading his mind. He made a swift show of shoving away much of the parchment and the book. Scott caught a glimpse of a chart of constellations. “Tea?” Foley asked.

“Er, yes please.”

Professor Foley set about boiling water and gathering two mugs, before turning his attention back to Scott. “Sorry I’ve not been able to talk much since term resumed, Scott. I’ve been extremely...” he trailed off, considering. “Well, I’ve been busy. But I –“

“Wanted to be there. That’s okay,” Scott interrupted, and suddenly, to his utmost horror, he felt a lump in his throat – and a prickling behind his eyes. He imagined violently beating the instinct to weep with a Beater’s bat, and quickly composed himself, clearing his throat.

“So how’s the excavation been going?” he said, occupying his mind with archaeology to distract from his woes.

If Foley had noticed Scott’s struggle, he said nothing of it. “The excavation? Oh,” he said, laughing nervously, “yes. Oh, it’s going fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said earnestly, grinning. Foley smiled widely, too, though it seemed somewhat fixed.

“I’d love to see the Governors’ faces when they find out they can’t get a hold of what’s down there,” Scott continued. He remembered what he’d been told by Florean on his birthday. “By the way, do you know a Tristan Fortescue?”

“I – Tristan?” Foley asked incredulously. “Er, yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” He finished preparing tea, and placed a cup of the piping hot liquid before Scott. “But that’s enough about that right now. I’d like to talk about you.”

“Me?” Scott queried, feigning ignorance.

“I may not have been able to see you much over the past few weeks,” Foley said, a mild, but sad smile on his lips, “but it hasn’t escaped my notice that you’ve been awfully quiet in class as of late.”

Scott said nothing, opting to simply sip his tea.

“Your standard of work has been just as excellent as always, of course. You’re progressing well with the Smoke-Screen Spell, and while I haven’t finished marking them; your poltergeist essay is an easy one-hundred.”

Scott tried to take comfort from the praise, but the words seemed strangely hollow considering everything else going on.

“But it’s not like you to not contribute in class,” Foley continued. “And furthermore, you’re here now. You’re here because you need help.”

Scott shook his head. “I don’t need –”

“It’s okay,” Foley said. “Look, Scott, you’re a smart kid.”

He nodded, wanting to believe him.

“And I can tell you’ve got a lot mounted against you at the moment,” his teacher continued emphatically. “I wish I could say I don’t know how that feels, but lately, I’ve felt the same. I suppose you feel trapped – like there’s no way of escaping a waking nightmare. But believe me when I say that that isn’t true – not one bit. As long as you never let up your efforts, you can make it in the end. Life isn’t always easy, but that’s no reason not to keep going!”

He wasn’t even looking at Scott anymore as he spoke with feverish intensity. Scott had the oddest sense that he was almost trying to convince himself, just as much as he was assuring Scott. He wondered if there was more to the ordeal with the Board of Governors, but decided that now wasn’t the best time to divert the topic.

Professor Foley let out a long breath, and turned his attention back onto Scott. “I’ve said it before, Scott; you can’t let others keep you from the things you need to do. And if anyone can manage it, it’s you. You’ve got the wits and the guts to keep going. Just keep on pushing, and I know you’ll make it.”

Scott looked him in the eye and nodded. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence for a while after that, sipping their tea contemplatively. Eventually, Scott’s attention was caught by something – or rather, the absence of something.

“The Pensieve’s gone.”

Foley glanced over at the empty glass case that once held the stone basin. “Ah, yes. It’s been moved, er, back to the site for now.”

“Speaking of the site,” Scott followed up eagerly, “what exactly have you discovered so far?”

Foley seemed to consider the question for a while. “Well,” he finally said, after much hesitation, “whatever the site was, it was more than likely used to store something precious. More than that, I... I cannot say.”

“Could I come with you next time?”

Foley shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Er, difficult to say, really. There are procedures involved, and that’s not to mention the potential dangers. Maybe not, Scott.”

He felt as though a balloon inside of him was being slowly deflated, with the excitement that had once filled it being lost in the process. He figured that his disappointment must have shown on his face, as Professor Foley sighed again.

“How about,” he deliberated, “you get onto finding a better place to be – mentally – and then... I’ll see what I can do. How does that sound?”

Scott nodded fervently.

In the world of phraseology, there exists a certain saying that applies almost universally to humanity. The expression of one’s hatred of Mondays is one delivered by young and old, working or ruling class, student or adult. Scott Carter, on the other hand, held no great dislike for Mondays. It was Wednesdays that he despised.

The day was entirely laden with subjects that just so happened to line up perfectly with Slytherin’s, and so it was that every subject on a Wednesday was shared with them. For Scott, this meant a full day of Scarlett Skeres.

It begun with Potions – the dark, dank, dimly-lit dungeon introduced the first year cohort (many of whom were still recovering from the previous night’s Astronomy class) to Professor Snape’s cheery demeanour. In usual fashion, Scott and Scarlett were forced to partner up together, to their great happiness.

Skeres wasted no time in giving Scott hell, and quickly turned the conversation onto her potion supplies.

“Maybe you’re too thick to understand how money works, Carter, but typically when you owe someone something, you make sure you pay them their dues.”

“Me sorry,” Scott grunted in his best troll impression. “Me not know what tiny girl saying, too squeaky. Like mouse. Hurt ears.”

“I’m serious, Carter, you had better get me my money, or you’ll be giving it to the boatman of the Styx.”

Ignoring her idle threats, Scott continued cutting up the Moly he was preparing for their Fortification Draught. “Why do you even need money, Skeres?” he asked distractedly.

“Well,” she said slyly, “I was hoping to bet a hefty amount against Ravenclaw’s chances of winning. I was thinking... a Galleon or two?”

Scott continued his cutting of the white herbs, his slices becoming increasingly ferocious as he went.

“But then I figured that no-one in their right mind would actually place a wager on you to win in the first place, so –”

Scott had had enough. He reeled around and glared at her. “One more word out of you, Skeres, and I’ll –”

“Stab me?”

It was then that he realised that he’d raised the knife, almost threateningly. Skeres was eyeing it with a mixture of apprehension and doubt.

“Put that thing down, Carter, before you do something we’ll both regret,” she murmured coolly.

He hastily dropped the knife back on the table, shaking his head to clear it. He glanced up to see if Snape had seen anything, but it seemed he was far more preoccupied examining the disaster unfolding in Belby’s cauldron. Belby’s partner, Eddie Carmichael, was presently coughing violently at the acrid stench that had arisen from the cauldron.

Scott didn’t speak for the rest of the lesson, too incensed to commit to any words. Most of his anger was self-directed, which might have boded well for Skeres’s wellbeing. He needed to remain calm – he’d made a deal with Foley to try and reach an appropriate headspace, after all. Bearing down on someone half his size with a cutting implement didn’t exactly portray the idea of ‘healthy mindset’.

Their next class was Magical Theory, which was a subject that combined the four houses to attend a lecture on the inner workings of magic, and the laws that governed it. Many of the metaphysical concepts described by their professor were hard to parse, though many found the subject more engaging than History of Magic, due to the fact that the theory could be applied to their other classes.

Scott was busying himself with the writing of notes when a folded piece of parchment drifted into the side of his head. He glanced around at the large lecture hall that the first years were all gathered in, and after a few moments of searching, found his target. Emile Pellon was subtly levitating the paper, his wand just barely poking out of his long sleeves. Scott narrowed his eyes at the boy, who responded by raising his eyebrows. Scott snatched the parchment from the air, and unfolded it.

_Carter,_

_Money._

_\- Scarlett_

He looked back up to see Skeres watching him. He theatrically tore the insulting letter into strips whilst she watched, a slight smirk on her face.

After morning break came their designated theory lesson for Astronomy, where they began by discussing the previous night’s observations, and what they aimed to view the following week. Professor Sinistra, their teacher for the subject, informed them that their next practical lesson was to be called off due to a bout of heavy snowfall that was predicted to arrive. Scott was pleased to note that Skeres looked remarkably glum at this news. This wasn’t all that brought him happiness; he’d be able to wake up at his usual time next Wednesday, allowing for the morning exercise he was always forced to miss.

Their Astronomy lessons were another that incorporated the entire year level, and as such, meant that Scott didn’t have to sit in close proximity to Skeres or her toadies. Unfortunately, he still had to put up with her voice as she incessantly pestered Sinistra with questions and input. As the lesson dragged by, Scott had become far too irked to allow Skeres to continue her self-satisfied prattling.

“That’s Algol, Professor!” she was saying, identifying a three-star system. “Also called the Demon Star, or Gorgona. It got its name from –”

“Ra’s al-Ghul; The Demon’s Head,” Scott cut in. Both Sinistra and Skeres turned their gaze onto him, the latter regarding him in much the same manner as one would faecal matter. “Ptolemy designated it the head of Medusa in the Perseus constellation.”

“Very good, both of you,” Sinistra said. “Five points to Slytherin and Ravenclaw, I think. And since you mentioned Ptolemy, I think it may be prudent to further look at his designations.”

Scott didn’t add anything more to the lesson following his interruption, but he’d gotten what he’d wanted. There was no smug aura emanating from Skeres any longer; just a hefty dosage of burning hatred, all of it directed at him.

Their next class was Diction and Essaycraft, where, thankfully, Scott needn’t even consider the existence of Skeres, nor Pellon. Skeres was apparently still smarting after being shown up in Astronomy, and Pellon didn’t have a single independent bone in his scrawny little body, and so followed suit. Scott enjoyed a relatively harassment-free lesson, disregarding the few smirks that he spotted when his name was read at attendance.

Following lunch was Transfiguration, which saw a definite end to the small respite. Skeres had apparently regained her malicious intent, evidenced by her behaviour as they trooped up to their classroom. She seemed to revel in speaking in a voice loud enough for Scott to hear.

“Frankly, it’s depressing,” Skeres was saying to her snickering audience of Slytherins. “My father’s very concerned about the falling standards here, but if he knew the sorts that managed to get into Ravenclaw these days, he’d have more than a few words to say.”

Scott knew she was trying to provoke a reaction from him, but unfortunately for her he had incentive to act contrary to what she was hoping for. He wasn’t about to let her make him look stupid, but he didn’t need to turn around and hex her to win.

“So Alex,” he said, loud enough for the Slytherins behind them to hear, “what’d you make of the Bats’ miserable performance the other day?”

Alex shrugged. “Quigley did pretty well,” she reasoned. “He’s actually a decent Beater from what I’ve heard.”

Scott glared and cleared his throat.

Understanding dawned on her face, and she made a quick glance behind her. “Er, but the rest of them were pathetic, really. O’Connell was Keeping the wrong hoop completely, it was like he’d been jinxed or something.”

“It’s a shame,” Scott said with assumed affectedness. “And their chances for the League were so high before. Their followers’ll be disappointed, I’m sure.”

They passed a large mirror set into the wall, and Scott was able to just barely spy Skeres through it, looking distinctly irritated from behind him.

Once they had reached the fifth floor Transfiguration classroom following another flight of stairs, they were let in by Professor McGonagall. After finding their seats (Scott found one as far from Skeres as possible), McGonagall began the lesson. What followed was at first entirely per usual – a mostly pristine degree of attentiveness from the class resultant from McGonagall’s severe demeanour. It wasn’t until McGonagall turned her attention to the blackboard to chalk up a particularly complex spell model when it began.

It started, of course, with Skeres, who subtly passed the note to Pellon. He in turn handed it to Higgs, who gave it to Trinity Lynn. After receiving it from Lynn, Cho continued the wave of movement by passing it to Marietta, who shook her head exasperatedly, and passed it to Sophie, who passed it to Alex. Finally, Alex handed it to its intended recipient, a reluctant Scott, who looked down at it.

It was a folded piece of parchment, very much like the one he’d received earlier in the day. In taunting cursive calligraphy was his name. His first instinct was to simply tear it up like the previous note, but his curiosity quickly overwhelmed this notion. He instead opened it, and read the threatening words within.

_I’m giving you another opportunity to deliver, Carter. You can fix this now and avoid what comes next, or continue being a stubborn idiot. I’ll enjoy either outcome, I assure you._

_You destroyed my potion supplies, and I want compensation. Bring ten Galleons to me at dinner tonight, and we can end this. Continue being unreasonable, and things will only get worse for you._

_Yours in hoping,_

_Scarlett Skeres_

Scott pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards him, and began his response. His was shorter in comparison, but he thought it got his point across.

_After careful consideration, I have decided that I’ll be keeping the gold._

_Yours in regret,_

_Scott_

He raised an arm.

“Yes, Mr. Carter?” McGonagall asked.

“Would I be able to use the necessary, please?”

“Very well, be quick about it, won’t you?”

He stood, folding the parchment out of sight of McGonagall. As he made for the door he glanced back to see if she was still watching. Finding that her attention was back on the blackboard, he quickly threw. Skeres’ nose was suddenly met by the point of the paper aeroplane pitched with pinpoint accuracy by Scott. He glimpsed her outraged expression as he strode from the classroom, smirking to himself as he went.

The very last class of the day was Flying, and as far as Scott was concerned, it couldn’t come quickly enough. After the initial first few minutes, in which Madam Hooch updated the three groupings of students based on experience and skill, they took to the air. Terence Higgs had graduated from the Intermediate group and joined his fellow Slytherins, Montague and Skeres. Scott watched Skeres make occasional glances in either his or Hooch’s direction, and wondered what it was that she was plotting.

He needn’t have wondered for long, as when Hooch became occupied with instructing Ethan on how best not to fall off his broom, she and Montague suddenly rammed him from either side.

“Hey!” Alex shouted furiously.

Montague had slammed his full weight into his side, while Skeres had jabbed the point of her broomstick into him. Cho glanced over at Hooch, her face full of concern and anger, while Higgs hovered nearby uncertainly. Scott felt pain blossoming from his shoulder and just below his ribs. He wobbled slightly, but managed to maintain his balance, perched as he was about thirty feet in the air. A fall from this height could get ugly, even with the protective enchantments that Madam Hooch had taken the time to lay out.

Alex flew to his side, her face red with anger. She glared at the two aggressors, who circled around them like predatory animals.

“They’ll expel you both if you keep this up, you know,” Scott said roughly.

“I know that, Carter,” Skeres sneered, braking smoothly and coming to a halt in front of him. “I just wanted to get my point across.”

“Point taken,” Scott grumbled, massaging where she’d practically impaled him.

“I won’t be denied, Carter. You’ll give me the gold one way or another, and I know just the way to make you do it. A challenge.”

Scott scoffed. “A broom race? Gladly.”

She smirked. “As much as I’d like to destroy you in the air, I’d much rather destroy you for real. I challenge you to a Wizard’s duel.”

Cho’s eyes widened, and Alex looked slightly alarmed.

“I accept,” Scott said after a moment. “But no half-measures, Skeres. We’re doing this properly. I invoke Code Duello.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she replied, a note of relish in her voice. “We do it at midnight, this Tuesday, the lecture hall. We won’t be heard over the snowstorm. Do you have a second in mind?”

“Alex,” he said without hesitation. He glanced at her. “Er, if that’s alright with you?”

Alex blinked, and shrugged. “Um, okay?”

“What about you?” Scott directed at Skeres.

Montague looked hopeful, but Skeres’ head snapped around to look directly at Pellon, who was hovering in place by the Intermediate group. He’d evidently been waiting for this, as when Skeres looked at over at him, he immediately gave a singular nod of his head.

“Emile,” she announced decisively. She began to move away, smiling tauntingly at Scott. “I’m onto all your little tricks, Carter. There won’t be any Muggle duelling here – just magic.”

“I’m counting on it.”

At that moment, Madam Hooch flew over to check on their exercise progress. They resumed what they’d been doing before their confrontation, acting as though nothing was wrong. Cho looked shaken, Higgs unsure, Montague disappointed, and Alex confused. But Scott was burning with renewed purpose. In his mind he heard Professor Foley telling him that he couldn’t let others stand in the way of what he needed. What he needed now was to win – to make Skeres pay, and prove that she couldn’t get the better of him. If he could just do that, everything else would be a cinch. He could beat the other Slytherins in Quidditch, could prove that he was good enough for Ravenclaw, and show Foley he was happy enough to be included in his work. All of it rested on what came from this duel. Tuesday, Midnight; he would be ready.


End file.
